CTOR 
RYSON 


FRANK  H.  SPEARMAN 


DOCTOR    BRYSON 


DOCTOR  BRYSON 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

FRANK    H.    SPEARMAN 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::i902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  September,  1902 


TROW  DIRECTORY 
i  ANU  AOOKIINDINQ 

NEW  YORK 


Co 
MY   SISTER,    GERTRUDE 


2220193 


i 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  receiving- room  of  the  Laflin  College  for  the 
Eye  and  Ear  is  very  large  and  its  day  is  long. 

The  day,  indeed,  may  be  said  to  begin  at  eleven 
o'clock  night,  when,  the  janitor  arriving,  followed  by  a 
brigade  of  scrub-women,  turns  on  the  incandescent 
bulbs  hot  yet  from  the  work  of  the  evening,  and  the 
big  room  and  its  fellows  are  beaten,  scrubbed,  cleansed, 
and  disinfected  for  the  work  of  the  new  day. 

In  the  morning  at  one  o'clock  the  preparations  are 
complete  and  the  receiving-room  naps.  At  three 
o'clock  and  at  four  the  watchman  looks  through  it;  at 
six  the  porter  throws  open  the  wide  windows  and  the 
cool  air  of  the  lake,  uncontaminated  yet  by  the  traffic 
of  the  street,  rushes  in.  At  seven  students  begin  to 
arrive ;  at  eight  there  are  assistants  in  the  laboratories ; 
at  nine  professors  are  seen  among  the  lockers ;  half  an 
hour  later  the  big  doors  opening  upon  the  elevators  are 
closed  to  exclude  stragglers ;  at  ten  the  clinics  begin. 

The  main  doors  open  then  for  all  day — open  to  a 
mass  of  human  misery,  for  the  clinic  of  the  Laflin 
College  for  the  Eye  and  Ear  is  the  largest  in  the  world. 
They  open,  the  big  doors,  not  so  much  to  the  blind — 
few  of  the  blind  pass  them — they  open  to  those  that  are 


Doctor   Bryson 

going  blind.  Indeed,  to  be  blind  is  not  so  much ;  it  is 
the  going  blind  that  costs. 

In  Chicago,  where  nothing  comes  by  chance,  every- 
thing seems  to;  but  it  is  not  to  luck  nor  to  fortuity 
that  the  Laflin  College  owes  its  extraordinary  clinic. 
When  Bryson  became  a  factor  in  the  councils  of  the 
College  the  clinic  was  no  more  than  a  feature  of  the 
catalogue;  an  advantage  that  the  school  was  reputed 
to  enjoy.  Situated  in  the  very  heart  of  the  most  typical 
of  the  great  cities  of  America,  less  than  two  minutes' 
walk  from  all  surface  terminals  and  within  the  loop  of 
the  elevated  systems,  the  Laflin  College  for  the  Eye 
and  Ear  enjoys — such  was  the  word,  enjoys — through 
its  exceptional  advantage  of  location  the  most  impor- 
tant adjunct  of  a  medical  institution,  viz.,  a  large  clinic. 
So  said  the  catalogue. 

Yet  the  "  viz.,  a  large  clinic,"  when  Doctor  Bryson 
was  offered  the  position  of  surgeon-in-chief  for  the 
Eye  at  the  Laflin  College,  was  like  many  catalogue  an- 
nouncements, viz.,  a  large  fiction.  The  large  receiving- 
room  was  there,  the  large  medical  staff  was  there,  the 
large  body  of  students  was  there,  but  the  misery — there 
was  no  misery.  The  problem  was  to  get  the  misery. 

"  While  I  am  sensible  of  the  honor,"  said  Henry 
El  wood  Bryson,  M.D.,  and  fellow  of  many  societies, 
as  he  stood  afterward  paged  in  the  Laflin  catalogue, 
''  while  I  am  very  sensible  of  the  honor,"  he  repeated 
to  the  trustees  when  offered  the  highest  position  at 
their  disposal,  "  there  are  matters  of  policy  to  be  con- 
sidered that  should  be  discussed  rather  frankly  before 
I  venture  on  accepting  it." 

The  most  vital  of  these  matters  related  to  the  clinic. 


Doctor   Bryson 


Doctor  Bryson  made  known  his  position  on  this  defi- 
nitely and  at  once.  "  If  I  take  the  surgery  of  the  eye," 
he  said  in  effect,  ''  it  must  be  on  this  condition — that 
no  student  of  the  institution  be  permitted  to  touch  the 
eye  of  a  clinic  patient.  Operations  upon  the  eye,  how- 
ever slight,  must  be  performed  by  the  surgeons  and 
the  assistant  surgeons  of  the  staff,  and  by  them  alone." 

The  position  was  radical.  It  must  be  considered  that 
the  courses  at  the  Laflin  institution  are  post-graduate : 
that  every  student  is  already  a  doctor  of  medicine. 
"  What  will  become  of  our  classes  ?  "  asked  the  trus- 
tees, bewildered ;  "  they  will  quit  school."  Doctor  Bry- 
son was  firm.  "  I  don't  want  any  student  operating  on 
my  eye,"  he  contended ;  "  you,  gentlemen,  wouldn't 
want  one  cutting  into  yours.  Let  the  poor  be  assured 
that  there  will  be  no  experimenting  in  their  distress 
and  we  can  work  up  a  clinic  here  that  will  beat 
Vienna." 

The  trustees  cautiously  misgave;  Bryson  stood  out. 
He  was  looked  on  as  the  coming  man  on  this  side ;  they 
really  wanted  him  to  take  the  chair ;  moreover,  the  bait 
he  cast  in  his  talk  was  attractive.  It  can  be  made  to 
beat  Vienna,  Doctor  Bryson  had  said.  To  beat  Vienna, 
they  well  knew,  would  be  to  beat  the  world.  How  could 
a  board  of  Chicago  trustees  resist  an  attempt  that 
promised  in  any  respect  to  beat  the  world?  So  say 
you,  said  they  at  last,  so  let  it  be ;  so  it  was.  Doctor 
Bryson  accepted  their  chair.  The  new  word  went 
forth;  the  clinic  grew  marvelously. 

How  could  it  be  otherwise?  The  poor  heard  they 
were  no  longer  to  be  butchered  to  make  a  student  holi- 
day. They  came,  suspicious,  for  treatment ;  they  went 

3 


Doctor   Bryson 


away  reassured.  The  word  passed;  poverty  also  has 
its  freemasonry — what  binds  closer  than  common  ties 
of  distress?  More  came,  and  more,  until  soon  at  the 
Laflin  College  there  was  misery  to  spare.  Nor  was 
a  student  lost,  for  the  student  must  follow  the  clinic; 
he  cannot  lead  it.  And  the  clinic  grew;  grew  until 
the  smooth,  prosperous,  alert,  public-spirited  trustee, 
with  his  thin  cigar,  a  mere  quill  of  a  cigar,  and  his 
black  coffee,  and  that  easy  indifference  that  the  Chicago 
trustee  loves,  could  say,  "  It  is — I  believe — now — the 
largest  in  the  world.  Vienna?  Yes — "  but  ah,  the 
gentle,  precise  emphasis  of  that  word.  "  Vienna  ? 
Yes;  next."  In  Chicago  much  hangs  on  the  word 
"next."  Are  you  first  in  the  world — or  next?  Be- 
tween those  extremes  all  lies — favor,  happiness,  every- 
thing. 

Through  the  receiving-room  passes  also  the  various 
business  of  the  College  and  of  its  people.  Patients  of 
members  of  the  faculties  come  here  to  consult  their 
doctors  because  the  situation  is  central,  and  the  busi- 
ness man,  pressed  for  time,  finds  it  convenient  to  run 
in  for  hasty  consultation.  Some  of  the  faculty  have 
their  private  offices  at  the  college;  during  the  busy 
hours  of  the  day  it  is  easier  to  find  them  here  than  on 
State  Street.  All  this  traffic,  the  private  patients  for 
the  doctors,  the  public  patients  for  the  clinics,  the 
callers  on  business,  and  those  seeking  business,  are 
sorted  in  the  receiving-room  and  directed  to  their 
seeking. 

This  is  done  by  a  woman — a  woman,  because  no  man 
could  hope  successfully  to  handle  the  stream  of  people 
whose  feet  cross  the  College  threshold.  Men  have 

4 


Doctor  Bryson 


tried  and  failed.  To  tell  the  canvasser  from  the  one 
that  is  entitled  to  admission,  the  prospecting  fiend  from 
the  man  of  business,  the  one  that  pays  from  the  one 
that  does  not  pay,  in  a  word,  the  sheep  from  the  goats 
— who  for  this  but  a  woman?  And  of  women,  who 
like  Miss  Martin? 

Miss  Martin  sits  in  the  chair  behind  the  table  that 
commands  the  double  doors.  Her  position  visibly 
threatens  the  intruder.  To  the  peddler  it  is  a  menace ; 
to  the  unfortunate  it  is  a  barrier ;  to  the  prosperous,  a 
clearing  house.  Miss  Martin,  in  the  language  of  the 
lodge,  is  the  inner  guard;  she  is  paid  to  shield  busy 
men.  It  is  her  business  to  welcome  the  unfortunate 
whose  lot  it  is  to  wait  and  to  wait,  and  to  see  that  the 
man  with  the  check  book  who  calls  brusquely  for  his 
doctor  gets  him  without  delay.  She  has  her  assistants, 
assistants  for  the  several  clinics  and  for  the  private 
offices ;  she  has  her  typewriter ;  she  has  the  messenger 
calls,  the  college  calls,  the  telephones.  She  is  tall,  fair 
of  face,  and  dark  of  hair  and  eyes  and  dress.  Lips  thin- 
nish,but  ruddy,  like  lips  that  breed  hemorrhages.  Teeth 
white  and  regular.  Placid,  alive,  intelligent,  she  is  one 
that  can  listen  calmly  to  sorrowful  things;  unmoved 
to  startling  things ;  marblelike  to  awful  things.  In  her 
mental  attitude  Miss  Martin  is,  in  a  word,  never 
"  next  "  on  any  proposition ;  she  is  "  first  "  always, 
whether  it  be  on  "  The  World's  Greatest  Living  Ar- 
tists "  in  twenty-four  volumes,  a  modified  tontine  in  the 
form  of  an  annuity  bond,  a  malingering  damage  case 
done  in  very  old  clothes  or  a  really  malignant  trachoma 
in  a  visitor  from  Southern  Illinois.  She  is  informed 
on  the  essential  advantages  of  the  true  Delsarte,  differ- 

5 


Doctor  Bryson 


entiating  it  clearly  from  the  false,  and  can  pass  rapidly 
on  the  points  of  a  military  corset  should  one  imperti- 
nently be  presented  during  business  hours.  At  this 
moment  she  was  talking  to  a  lady  with  a  little  girl. 

The  long  rows  of  chairs  in  the  receiving-room  were 
filled  with  waiting  patients  disposed  in  the  silently 
miserable  attitudes  that  mark  the  suffering  that  is 
dumb.  At  the  several  doors  of  the  operating-rooms 
for  the  eye,  the  ear,  and  the  nose  and  throat,  ushers 
called  at  intervals  by  number  for  clinic  cards.  At  each 
call  the  lines  stirred  and,  followed  by  all  eyes  that  still 
could  see,  a  patient  stumbled  forward  and  handed  in 
his  red  ticket  at  the  eye-door  or  his  blue  ticket  at  the 
ear-door  or  his  green  ticket  at  the  nose-and-throat- 
door.  As  he  disappeared  through  the  portal,  heads 
subsided  into  hands,  shawls  and  mufflers,  and  the  re- 
ceiving-room buzzed  low  again  with  the  murmur  of 
silence.  It  was  long  past  the  luncheon  hour,  and  the 
lady  in  black  with  the  little  girl  stood  before  flVIiss 
Martin's  table. 

She  was  a  patient  lady,  young  herself,  and  the  little 
girl  did  not  look  above  eight.  "  Do  you  think,"  asked 
the  mother,  "  there  will  be  any  use  of  my  waiting 
longer  to-day  ?  " 

She  had  been  waiting  since  half-past  eleven  o'clock ; 
it  was  now  after  two.  Miss  Martin  was  puzzled,  be- 
cause she  knew  her  to  be  a  patient  of  Doctor  Kurd's. 
She  had  been  of  late  a  frequent  caller  with  this  little 
girl,  who,  Miss  Martin  understood,  was  going  blind. 
But  if  Doctor  Kurd  had  given  her  an  appointment  at 
the  College  why  hadn't  he  kept  it  ?  Doctor  Kurd  never 
let  profitable  patients  escape — he  was  the  last  man  in 

6 


Doctor   Bryson 


the  College  to  do  that.  Astute  as  she  was,  women  some- 
times gave  Miss  Martin  pause.  A  woman  can  tell 
whether  a  man  can  pay;  but  who  can  answer  for  a 
woman?  Provided  her  affections  are  not  involved  no 
man  can  deceive  a  woman;  but  a  woman  may.  This 
lady,  this  Mrs.  Eliot  for  instance,  her  face  when  she 
first  began  to  call  had  been  bright  and  the  poise  of  her 
head  spoke  confidence.  Latterly  her  manner  showed 
depression,  anxiety — and  her  doctor,  one  of  the  leading 
surgeons  of  the  College  and  the  town,  acted  as  if  he 
were  at  least  indifferent;  it  occurred  to  Miss  Martin 
that  the  business  could  not  be  very  good.  She  made 
no  allowance  for  hours  spent  in  the  depression  of  the 
receiving-room,  being  herself  used  to  that.  When  she 
had  gone  out  for  luncheon  Mrs.  Eliot  was  waiting; 
when  she  returned,  refreshed  by  coffee  and  chicken  pie 
at  the  Women's  Exchange,  and  by  the  whirl  and  the 
sun  of  two  blocks  of  State  Street,  Mrs.  Eliot  was  still 
waiting — Doctor  Kurd  most  unaccountably  hadn't 
come.  If  he  had  cared  very  much  for  his  patient's 
comfort,  Miss  Martin  decided,  he  would  have  come. 
If  he  was  indifferent  she  could  not  well  afford  en- 
thusiasm ;  her  apologies  were  vague. 

"  I  don't  know,  really;  I  should  hardly  look  for  the 
doctor  now  before  three  o'clock.  You  might — "  ven- 
tured Miss  Martin,  relenting,  doubtfully,  "  go  out  and 
get  your  lunch." 

"  But  if  he  came  in  and  went  away  again  I  should 
miss  him."  Miss  Martin  could  not  gainsay  it. 

The  little  girl,  a  tot  with  babyish  eyes  and  brown 
curls,  listened  at  her  mother's  side.  The  fingers  of  one 
fat  hand  wandered  over  the  row  of  push-buttons  along 

7 


Doctor   Bryson 


the  side  of  the  table.  Miss  Martin,  smiling,  put  her 
hand  away;  children  around  desks  are  troublesome. 
Mrs.  Eliot,  balancing  chances,  looked  appealingly  at 
the  clock,  which  professed  to  be  corrected  daily  by  the 
Western  Union  Telegraph  Company ;  but  beyond  the 
pointed  statement  that  it  was  half -past  two,  the  clock, 
slave  to  a  corporation,  could  suggest  nothing.  Give 
up,  Mrs.  Eliot  felt  she  could  not;  she  led  the  child 
back  to  the  chairs. 

"  When  shall  we  go,  mamma?  "  asked  the  little  one 
as  they  sat  down. 

"  Pretty  soon,  Ruth." 

"  Mamma,"  whispered  Ruth,  with  the  pause  of  a 
child,  "  I'm  hungry." 

"  Yes,  dearie ;  pretty  soon  we'll  go." 

After  another  pause,  "  Mamma,  I  want  a  drink." 
Rising,  her  mother  led  her  across  the  room  to  the 
water-cooler. 

"  Let  me  hold  the  cup,  mamma.  Oh,  mamma,  I  can 
see  a  cloud  around  the  cup,"  cried  Ruth,  taking  the 
mug  in  her  hand. 

"  Can  you,  dearie  ?  "  asked  her  mother,  with  mechan- 
ical sadness. 

"  Can  you,  blue  eyes  ?  "  echoed  a  voice  behind  them. 
A  surgeon  who  had  just  come  in  stood  at  Mrs.  Eliot's 
elbow.  He  repeated  his  question  to  Ruth,  "  Can  you 
see  a  cloud  ?  " 

Ruth  did  not  venture  reply.  "  Don't  do  it,  don't  see 
any  clouds,"  said  the  strange  gentleman,  pinching  her 
chin  mildly. 

"  Oh,  do  not  drink  out  of  that,"  he  exclaimed,  with 
apprehension,  as  Mrs.  Eliot  filled  the  cup.  He  opened 

8 


Doctor   Bryson 


the  door  of  a  cabinet  just  above  the  cooler  and  took 
down  a  thin  tumbler.  "  Use  this.  Let  me  help  you." 
He  filled  the  glass,  and,  smiling,  gave  it  to  Ruth. 
When  Ruth  had  finished  he  asked  her  mother  with 
.deference  whether  she  would  drink.  Declining,  she 
thanked  him  and  he  filled  the  glass  for  himself.  He 
was  young,  the  deferential  gentleman;  smooth-faced 
and  tall.  He  was  quick  and  easy  in  movement ;  nervous 
energy  flowed  from  his  finger-tips. 

While  he  stood  drinking  the  water  the  main  door 
flew  open  and  a  second  surgeon  hurried  into  the  room. 
His  step  was  brisk  and  heavy.  He  was  stocky  in 
figure,  his  neck  short  and  ruddy,  and  his  manner  abrupt. 
He  looked  around  the  room  hurriedly,  saw  Mrs.  Eliot 
and  bobbed  forward.  His  eyes  were  very  bright,  his 
cheeks  newly  shaven  around  a  black  mustache,  and 
his  hair,  which  was  straight  and  thick  and  black, 
burst,  as  he  took  off  his  hat,  aggressively  from  his 
forehead. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Eliot,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  he  exclaimed, 
with  the  cordial  emphasis  that  simulates  sincerity.  "  I 
am  afraid  I  have  kept  you  waiting."  A  protest  that 
would  not  sink  in  her  eyes  he  choked  down  with  an 
apology.  "  A  sudden  illness  of  one  of  the  staff  over  at 
the  hospital  put  me  in  the  harness  for  three  hours.  I 
telephoned  the  College  here.  Miss  Martin,  didn't  you 
get  my  message  for  Mrs.  Eliot?  What?  Why,  I 
don't  understand  that.  I  stood  right  by  the  girl  while 
she  was  'phoning  it.  However — step  right  this  way, 
Mrs.  Eliot.  Ruth,  how  do  you  do  to-day?  Not  very 
well  ?  Why,  I'm  sorry.  Come  with  me.  By  the  way, 

9 


Doctor  Bryson 


doctor,"  he  added,  speaking  to  the  tall  young  man  who 
had  by  this  time  crossed  to  the  lockers,  "  I've  got  a 
case  here  I'd  like  you  to  look  at  in  a  minute — "  The 
one  addressed  as  doctor  was  taking  off  his  coat.  "  I 
shall  be  in  my  office,"  he  replied. 


10 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  Miss  Borderlys'  meant  more  than  the  Misses 
Borderly.     It  meant  besides  three  old  maids, 
three  brick  houses  and  a  stone  house,  communicating 
and  adjoining,  situated  on  a  lower  southside  avenue. 

The  Miss  Borderlys'  meant  an  establishment  and  a 
very  considerable  one  conducted  by  the  Misses  Bor- 
derly. There  was  Miss  Mary  Borderly,  who  was  Miss 
Borderly  proper,  and  Miss  Anna,  and  Miss  June 
Borderly,  who  might  be  described  as  Miss  Borderly 
improper.  The  first  and  eldest  stood  for  dignity.  She 
was  like  her  bill  of  fare,  plumply  generous,  but  within 
bounds.  She  sat  during  meals  on  a  dais  in  the  dining- 
room  and,  what  was  of  first  importance  to  the  establish- 
ment, was  "  strictly  business."  The  next  sister,  Miss 
Anna,  was  in  no  respect  notable  except  that  without 
having  them  she  continually  gave  the  impression  of 
weak  eyes.  This  may  have  been  mere  apathy;  her 
sisters  overshadowed  her,  the  older,  Mi'ss  Mary,  with 
her  dignity;  the  younger,  Miss  June,  with  her  pro- 
fanity. 

Miss  June  Borderly  supplied  in  the  trio  of  old  maids 
the  sporting  element.  When  taxed  with  her  iniquities 
she  would  frankly  say,  "  Well,  I  never  had  any  broth- 
ers— the  meanness  that  belonged  by  rights  to  boys  in 
our  family  all  stuck  to  me.  But  I'm  up,  just  the  same," 
she  would  add,  defiantly,  if  the  game  was  poker,  "  and 

II 


Doctor   Bryson 


you're  not,  Mr.  Mitchell ;  nor  you  either,  John  C.  My 
ante  is  there  every  time." 

And  there  it  certainly  could  be  found  if  there  was  a 
game  anywhere  under  the  roof.  Miss  June  was  tall, 
exceedingly  tall,  with  a  face  of  unusual  length.  Her 
face  was  uncompromisingly  plain,  her  brows  arched 
high  most  of  the  time  at  the  world's  wickedness,  and 
she  had  one  large,  cold,  gray,  weeping  eye.  Her  other 
eye  was  large  and  cold  and  reasonably  gray,  but  it  did 
not  transfix  like  its  mournful  mate.  Mr.  Bowles,  of  the 
Annex  set,  who  was  a  newspaper  man  and  wrote  for 
the  funny  papers,  called  the  main  eye  Miss  June's 
April;  but  all  the  same  when  it  was  poker  if  April 
clouded  he  anted  at  once. 

Gambling  was  a  propensity  of  Miss  June's  for  which 
she  offered  no  apology.  It  never  went  above  penny 
ante  or  euchre  for  a  prize,  yet  it  was  a  mania ;  as  dis- 
tinctly one  as  if  she  had  belonged  to  the  Board  of 
Trade.  Nor  was  gambling  her  only  failing;  she 
swayed  at  times  perceptibly  toward  strong  language, 
and  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  an  ethical  drunk- 
ard or  going  on  a  moral  spree  Miss  June  will  be  ulti- 
mately held,  I  fear,  for  some  excess  of  the  sort.  She 
was  certainly  at  all  times  inclined  to  skepticism  in  re- 
ligious matters  and  she  had  periods  of  unbelief  that 
were  no  less  than  immoderate. 

It  will  easily  be  understood  that  in  Miss  Borderlys' 
June  was  a  factor.  She  looked  after  the  gas  bills, 
hired  and  discharged  the  servants,  and  took  what  she 
herself  termed  frankly  the  kicks.  The  intending  kicker 
was  instinctively  awed  by  Miss  Mary's  dignity;  Anna 
was  apathetic  to  complaints;  but  the  boarder  with  a 

12 


Doctor   Bryson 


grievance  could  get  an  interview  with  Miss  June  any- 
where, at  any  time,  on  any  subject  connected  with  the 
establishment.  If  her  sad  eye  encouraged  a  stranger 
to  begin  a  disturbance  it  acted  after  the  discussion  was 
fairly  under  way  as  a  peacemaker — something  on  the 
principle  of  a  machine  gun. 

Beyond  this  tendency  to  occasional  man  or  woman- 
slaughter,  to  which  she  could  properly  plead  self-de- 
fense, Miss  June  performed  the  office  of  comforter  and 
gossip  at  Borderlys'.  She  heard,  I  do  not  say  believed, 
the  many  tales  of  woe  within  the  gates,  and  she  merci- 
fully kept  the  brick  houses,  which  constituted  the  ple- 
beian end  of  the  establishment,  informed  as  to  the  do- 
ings of  the  Annex  set,  the  aristocrats  who  occupied  the 
big  stone-front  and  made  up  the  exclusive  end  of  the 
big  dining-room. 

Yet  Miss  June  could  tell  much  and  leave  much  un- 
told, saving,  perhaps,  as  to  the  depravity  of  cooks ;  on 
that  subject  she  cultivated  no  reserve.  It  was  half- 
past  three  o'clock  when  Mrs.  Eliot  got  back  to  the 
boarding-house  with  Ruth.  She  rang  at  the  north 
basement  door;  Miss  June  answered  the  bell.  The 
double  doors  leading  from  the  hall  to  the  dining-room 
were  closed. 

"  We  are  too  late  for  luncheon,  aren't  we  ? "  ven- 
tured Mrs.  Eliot,  looking  with  a  touch  of  appeal  into 
Miss  June's  tall  face.  June's  brows  and  voice  rose  to- 
gether. 

"  Lunch  ?  My  grief !  It's  half-past  three  o'clock !  " 
she  exclaimed,  like  a  firecracker. 

"  I  know,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Eliot,  appeasingly,  "  it  is 
too  late,  of  course.  Oh,  we  were  kept  so,  waiting." 

13 


Doctor   Brjrson 


"Can't  I  have  something,  mamma?"  whispered 
Ruth,  clinging  to  her  skirt. 

"  Hush,  dear,"  said  her  mother,  taking  her  hand, 
"  dinner  will  be  ready  pretty  soon.  Come." 

If  there  was  one  thing  June  Borderly  had  a  horror 
of,  so  she  said,  it  was  children.  She  said  this  of  chil- 
dren and  of  cooks  and  of  gas  companies.  In  June 
Borderly's  inferno  for  these  offenders  there  will  be  ex- 
clusive pits.  Oddly  enough,  June  reversed  the  usual 
beginnings  of  doubt;  she  found  no  difficulty  in  believ- 
ing in  hell ;  it  was  only  concerning  heaven  that  she  re- 
mained unconvinced.  She  stood  a  moment  looking  in- 
dignantly after  Mrs.  Eliot  as  the  troubled  lady  soothed 
and  hurried  Ruth  upstairs.  June  might  have  been  im- 
precating. Her  attitude  was  profane  at  all  events,  and 
there  was  a  vague  anathema  in  her  eye. 

The  stairs  were  heavy  and  with  empty  stomachs  they 
were  hard  to  climb.  Mrs.  Eliot's  room  was  at  the  rear 
of  the  hall  on  the  second  floor.  She  closed  the  door 
behind  her  just  as  Ruth's  patience  broke  softly  into 
sobs ;  she  was  very  tired  and  very  hungry.  Her  mother 
took  off  her  little  reefer  jacket  and  hat  and  tried  to 
quiet  her  sobs,  but  she  made  a  poor  attempt,  for  her 
own  heart  was  troubled.  Taking  Ruth  at  last  in  her 
arms,  she  rocked  her  till  the  hunger  was  forgotten,  then 
tiptoed  with  her  over  to  the  bed.  Supporting  her  on 
one  arm,  she  pulled  back  the  spread,  laid  her  down  and 
lay  down  beside  her.  Ruth  turned  uneasily,  sobbing  a 
little  yet  in  her  sleep.  At  length  she  threw  her  head  on 
her  mother's  arm  and  lay  quiet.  Mrs.  Eliot's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  ceiling  where  flyspecked  roses  in  plaster 
of  paris  hung  about  a  three-burner  chandelier.  The 

14 


Doctor   Bryson 


room  had  once  been  part  of  a  home ;  it  was  now  part  of 
a  house.  A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  her  reflec- 
tions. Ruth  started  uneasily  as  her  mother  rose.  It 
was  Miss  June,  indefinably  tall  in  the  gloom  and  in- 
definably threatening.  She  walked  solemnly  in  with  a 
flaring  glass  of  milk  and  a  plate  of  crackers.  At  the 
vision  Ruth's  eyes  opened  and  she  sat  up.  June 
marched  over  to  the  bed  and  put  the  tray  in  her  lap. 

"  Oh,  Miss  June,  you  shouldn't  have  taken  this 
trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot,  softly. 

"  Children  are  eternal  trouble,  I  know  that ;  you 
can't  tell  me  anything  about  children;  I  know  'em." 
She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed  and  looked  at 
Ruth  Eliot  as  a  monster  hovering  over  a  victim  med- 
itates mildly.  Presently  she  turned  on  the  mother,  who 
had  hardly  recovered  her  breath. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said,  peremptorily ;  "  what's  the 
matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Oh,  yes  there  is."  After  a  pause,  "  You're  in 
trouble — " 

"  No." 

"  Yes  you  are.  You  can't  fool  me.  What've  you 
been  crying  about?  I've  got  as  many  troubles  as  any- 
body in  Chicago.  1  don't  cry." 

Her  main  eye,  April,  shone  moist  and  searching  on 
Ruth's  mother;  her  good  eye  was  non-committal,  but 
there  was  a  note  in  her  voice  from  somewhere  near  the 
heart.  It  didn't  need  much  to  win  the  weary  woman's 
confidence  just  then ;  she  was  heavy. 

"  I  haven't  been  crying,  but  I  feel  like  crying." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  cry  ?    It'll  do  you  more  good 

IS 


Doctor   Bryson 


than  anything  else  when  you  feel  like  it.  I  cry  like 
fury  sometimes." 

"  Ruth's  eye — the  one  that  was  injured — I  told  you 
about  it—" 

"  What's  the  matter — is  it  worse  ?  " 

Mrs.  Eliot  nodded  impressively  and  shook  her  head 
mournfully,  looking  toward  Ruth.  Ruth,  too,  looked 
grave  and  buried  the  blue  offender  deep  in  the  glass 
of  milk. 

"  Some  terrible  disease  has  followed  the  inflamma- 
tion." 

"  How  did  her  eye  get  hurt  ?" 

"  A  little  boy  shot  a  ball  out  of  a  Roman  candle  at 
her  on  the  Fourth  of  July  and  it  struck  her  in  the  eye. 
Oh,  what  a  Fourth  of  July  that  was.  Now  she  may 
lose  the  eye." 

Mrs.  Eliot  spoke  under  repression,  but  what  it  cost 
her  to  speak  was  written  in  her  face.  "  Since  I  have 
been  told  I  can  hardly  think,"  she  struggled  on.  "  Isn't 
it  a  terrible  dream  ?  In  Evanston  I  had  her  under  the 
care  of  our  own  physician.  Then  they  told  me  I  must 
go  to  an  oculist,  and  my  friends  said  Doctor  Kurd  was 
the  best.  When  he  saw  her  he  said  I  had  waited  too 
long.  I  have  to  take  Ruth  down  every  other  day  and 
sometimes  we  have  to  wait  so  for  him,  and  he  is  so 
busy.  Sometimes  he  seems  to  me  almost  indifferent. 
Delay  and  anxiety — and  expense — the  expense  is  fear- 
ful. Doctor  Kurd's  time  is  in  great  demand,  of 
course. 

"  He  makes  you  think  so,"  blurted  June. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Kurd  ?  "  exclaimed  June,  gutturally  fierce  and  with 
16 


Doctor   Bryson 

impressive  pause,  "  I  guess  I  do.     He  used  to  board 
here."    Mrs.  Eliot  dimly  conceived  what  that  meant. 

"  Did  he  ?  "  she  echoed,  feebly. 

"  This  wasn't  good  enough  for  him.  He  thought  he 
could  get  his  name  up  quicker  by  going  to  some  swell 
hotel.  So  your  friends  told  you  he  was  the  best,  did 
they?  You  go  to  the  Apostle's  Memorial,  don't  you? 
Ah-ha ;  he's  the  big  man  up  there." 

"  He  is  Doctor  Batterly's  oculist." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  June,  with  rapidly  lighting 
face,  "  that  makes  him  the  big  man  in  the  church,  don't 
it?  But  he  ain't  the  best,  my  dear  madam,  not  by  a 
long  shot.  D'you  know  why  he's  always  so  busy  when 
you're  waiting?  Because  you're  not  a  big  swell,  with 
a  carriage  and  footman,  that  can  turn  business  to  him — 
that's  why.  Kurd  ?  I  guess  I  know  him.  You'll  chase 
that  man  until  you  are  blind  for  all  he'll  worry  about  it. 
Doctor  Kurd  is  out  for  the  stuff,  and  you're  only  a 
music-teacher  and  earn  your  living.  Don't  you  sup- 
pose he  knows  it  ?  "  demanded  June  with  a  show  of 
force. 

Mrs.  Eliot  took  the  empty  glass  and  plate  from  Ruth. 
"  He  says  an  operation  will  have  to  be  performed,"  she 
responded,  "  or  she  may  lose — " 

"  Lose  her  eye?" 

A"  Both  eyes,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Eliot,  breaking  down  at 
last. 

"  My  godfrey !  I'll  bet,"  exclaimed  June,  rallying 
unsteadily,  "  he's  only  trying  to  scare  you.  What  kind 
of  an  operation  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  understand  it  at  all." 

"  That  means  five  hundred  dollars,"  observed  June 

17 


Doctor   Bryson 


grimly.  "  When  he  gets  you  where  you  don't  under- 
stand things,  then  look  out.  It  means  five  hundred 
dollars." 

"  Oh,  June,  don't  say  that." 

"  Five  hundred  dollars  to  a  thousand.  He  wanted 
to  operate  on  my  eye — the  old  fraud."  June  shook 
her  head  defiantly  at  the  recollection. 

Ruth  threw  her  face  into  her  mother's  lap.  Though 
she  suffered  constant  pain,  she  complained  little.  That 
was  why  people  in  the  house  thought  her  such  a  queer 
little,  girl.  "  My  dearie,  my  dearie,"  murmured  her 
mother,  clasping  her.  "  What  will  become  of  you  and 
me?" 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  in  the  first  place  how  bad 
it  was  ?  "  demanded  June,  indignantly.  "  I  could  have 
told  you  what  to  do.  The  best  eye  doctor  in  Chicago 
lives  right  in  this  house ;  he's  lived  here  for  three  years. 
He  don't  have  to  chase  into  high-toned  churches  and 
board  at  swell  hotels  to  get  business.  He  stays  right 
here — he's  over  in  the  Annex — and  he's  forgot  more 
about  eyes  than  Doctor  Kurd  '11  ever  know.  Well,  he 
has ;  and  he's  got  more  heart  than  Doctor  Kurd  Eas 
cheek — and  that's  saying  a  good  deal,  the  Lord  knows." 

"Who  is  he,  June?" 

"  Doctor  Bryson." 

"Bryson?" 

"  Yes,  Henry  Bryson.    Why  ?    Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  No,  but  haven't  I  heard  the  name  ?  " 

"  Like  enough.  I  guess  everybody's  heard  it.  He  is 
in  the  Laflin  College." 

"  That  is  where  I  must  have  heard  it." 
18 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  You  ought  to  hear  it  there.    He's  the  smartest  man 
in  the  whole  institution." 

"  I  remember.  Doctor  Kurd  has  spoken  of  him." 
"  He  didn't  tell  you  that  Bryson  was  there,  did  he  ? 
I  guess  not.  He  didn't  tell  you  he  boarded  here,  did 
he  ?  I  guess  not.  Kurd  is  one  of  the  professors  there, 
and  Bryson  is  the  professor;  that's  all  the  difference. 
Swell  churches  and  hotels  don't  count  down  there,  let 
me  tell  you.  It's  business,  you  bet.  Mrs.  Eliot,  you're 
a  goose,  running  after  that  man  Kurd.  He's  looking 
for  big  patients — that's  the  reason  he's  so  busy.  If 
you'd  told  me  I  could  have  put  you  on  the  right  track 
in  half  an  hour.  I'd  have  had  Doctor  Bryson  look  at 
her  eye — then  you'd  know  what  the  matter  is." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  would  look  at  her  eye,  Miss 
June?" 

"  He  would  if  I  said  so.  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid. 
I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  I  nursed  him  through 
pneumonia  once  and  he  said  he'd  have  died  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me." 

"  But  if  he  is  such  a  celebrated  doctor  I  could  never 
pay  his  fees.  I  can  hardly  keep  up  with  Doctor  Kurd." 

"  You  jtist  wait  till  I  see  him  and  have  a  little  talk 
with  him  after  dinner.  Just  brace  up.  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about  and  I  know  him." 

When  everything  looks  desperate  any  confidence  is 
reassuring.  There  was  fire  in  June's  words ;  when  she 
took  the  tray  and  left  the  room  she  left  a  glimmer  of 
hope. 

Dinner  at  Miss  Borderlys'  is  served  at  six  o'clock. 
Ten  tables  are  set  and  three  items  of  the  bill  of  fare  are 
always  good:  the  roast  beef,  the  coffee,  and  the  ice- 


Doctor   Bryson 


cream.  Moreover,  they  are  served  in  abundance.  Of 
the  ten  tables  eight  are  as  to  occupancy  interchangeable. 
Two  tables  in  the  south  end  of  the  dining-room,  which 
is  made  up  of  four  basements  thrown  together,  are  ex- 
clusive. They  are  the  Annex  tables,  and  they  belong 
to  the  aristocrats  of  the  establishment,  those  that  oc- 
cupy the  brown-stone  house.  At  the  Annex  tables 
custom  at  dinner  tolerates  full  dress.  It  is  not  dis- 
couraged by  Miss  Mary  Borderly,  for  it  gives  tone  to 
the  dining-room.  Then,  the  eight  tablefuls  like  to 
affect  contempt  for  the  habit,  while  they  themselves 
dine  on  an  equality  with  it. 

Mrs.  Eliot  and  Ruth  had  seats  in  the  lesser  light  of 
the  north  end,  where  the  Annex  set  was  known  only  by 
reputation.  June  Borderly,  not  ordinarily  visible  at 
dinner-time,  appeared  that  night  after  the  meats  were 
served  and  betrayed  some  air  of  responsibility.  She 
talked  a  few  moments  on  the  dais  with  Miss  Mary  and 
talked  at  the  sideboards,  where  the  head- waitresses 
marshaled  the  reserves  of  fruits  and  nuts,  and  all  the 
while  watched  the  Annex  tables,  in  especial  the  head 
table,  and  when  after  dessert  two  young  men  rose  she 
wound  through  the  aisles  and  intercepted  them  at  the 
south  entrance. 

"  Doctor,  where  are  you  going  so  fast  ?  "  she  asked  of 
the  taller  of  the  two. 

"  I  ?  Nowhere.  It's  John  C.  that's  going  to-night," 
replied  the  doctor,  catching  his  companion  by  the  arm. 
"  He  has  a  date.  Think  of  that,  Miss  June ;  John  C. 
with  a  date." 

"  I  want  to  see  you." 

"  You  may ;  but  it  will  cost  you  money." 

20 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  I  don't  care.    You  can  go,  Mr.  Allison." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  doctor's  companion,  amiably. 
Miss  June  walked  upstairs  with  them.  "  Doctor,"  she 
began  when  Allison  left  them  at  the  reception-room, 
"  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 

"  What  shall  it  be  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  crossing  his 
legs  as  he  sat  down  in  front  of  her.  "  Is  it  quick  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  or  not.  I  want  you  to 
look  at  a  little  girl's  eyes  for  me." 

"  That's  easy.    When  and  where  ?  " 

"  Now  just  hold  on ;  don't  be  so  fast.  This  little 
thing  is  the  dearest  child  you  ever  saw  in  your  life. 
She  is  right  here  in  the  house,  and  you  can  look  at  her 
eyes  now  if  you  will." 

"  I  will." 

"  Haven't  you  honestly  anything  to  do?  " 

"If  you  wait  till  I've  nothing  to  do,  my  opinion  on 
anybody's  eyes  won't  count.  Bring  her  up  to  the 
room.  Is  she  at  dinner  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Bring  her  up." 

"  Shall  I  bring  her  mother  too?  " 

"  As  you  like.    I  shan't  eat  her  up." 

"  But,  doctor—" 

"Well— doctor  what?" 

"  They  haven't  very  much  money." 

"  Miss  June,  is  this  a  conspiracy  ?  " 

"  You  won't  be  short  with  her,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  have  been  short  with  any  friends  of  yours, 
have  I  ?  "  June  struck  her  hands  together  with  a  look 
of  triumph.  "  We'll  be  up." 


21 


DOCTOR  BRYSON,  with  his  friend  John  C.  Alli- 
son, had  the  front  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  Annex.  They  had  in  the  two  suites  a  large  living- 
room,  their  den,  and  besides  the  separate  bedrooms 
the  doctor  had  an  apartment  over  the  hall 
which  he  used  as  a  sort  of  office.  It  was 
at  the  door  of  this  that  Miss  June,  her 
friends  in  convoy,  knocked  a  few  minutes  later.  The 
little  room  was  lighted  by  a  student  lamp,  green- 
shaded,  that  threw  Bryson  up,  tall  and  slender,  as  he 
opened  the  door.  As  he  bowed,  Mrs.  Eliot  got  a  look  at 
him — it  was  the  young  surgeon  of  the  water-cooler  at 
the  college.  His  face  was  grave  and  his  manner  cor- 
dial. After  introduction  to  her  mother  he  held  out 
both  his  hands  to  Ruth  and  took  her  in  with  him.  The 
office  was  simply  provided.  A  table  supported  some 
shelves  of  books.  On  the  opposite  wall  hung  an  en- 
graving of  "  The  Doctor."  The  floor  was  laid  in  par- 
quetry; two  or  three  chairs  and  a  pair  of  revolving 
stools  made  up  the  equipment.  When  the  visitors  were 
installed  and  the  doctor  sat  easily  on  a  stool,  their  heads 
were  brought  close  together;  the  room  was  small. 

"  You  sit  here,  Ruth,"  suggested  Doctor  Bryson, 
confidentially,  placing  her  on  the  other  stool.  "  Then, 
while  they  are  talking,  we  can  talk.  Now,  which  is  the 
sick  eye  ?  This  one  ?  "  He  drew  Ruth's  stool  closer  to 
the  lamp  and  laid  one  hand  on  her  curls.  His  thumb 

22 


Doctor   Bryson 


touched  her  right  upper  eyelid,  and,  moving  the  lamp 
a  little  as  he  did  so,  he  drew  the  eyelid  far  back. 

"  There  has  been  some  inflammation  here,"  he  ob- 
served, without  looking  up. 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Some  external  injury." 

"  She  was  struck  in  the  eye  last  Fourth  of  July  by  a 
ball  from  a  Roman  candle,  doctor,  and  her  eye  became 
terribly  inflamed." 

With  a  murmur  of  assent,  still  inspecting  the  cornea, 
he  asked  other  questions.  Presently  he  drew  Ruth 
closer.  "  How  was  your  roast  beef  at  dinner  to-night, 
Ruth?  Tough?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Real  tough  ?  " 

Mrs.  Eliot  looked  startled.  "  You  outrageous  man !  " 
protested  June,  vehemently.  Doctor  Bryson  covered 
Ruth's  left  eye  with  a  blotter  and  held  the  fingers  of 
his  right  hand  up  and  back. 

"  How  many  fingers  can  you  count,  Ruth  ?  " 

"  Three,  sir." 

"  How  many  now  ?  " 

"  Two." 

"  Hold  this  before  your  left  eye,"  he  enjoined,  giv- 
ing her  the  pad  as  he  rose  and  stepped  back  from  her. 
"  How  many  now  ?  " 

"  One,  sir." 

"  How  many  now  ?  "  he  asked,  receding  with  each 
question. 

"  Three ;  no,  four." 

"Now?" 

"  One." 


Doctor   Bryson 


"Now?" 

"  Not  any."  He  was  holding  up  three,  but  he  stopped 
and  said,  "  Very  good,  Ruth."  June,  while  saying 
nothing,  thought  it  very  bad.  Sitting  down,  he  pressed 
lightly  on  the  upper  lid  of  the  sick  eye  with  the  fore- 
fingers of  each  hand,  and  began  asking  questions  very 
rapidly  of  her  mother  as  to  the  severity  and  duration 
of  the  first  attack,  the  subsequent  pain,  the  general  con- 
dition of  the  child's  health — many  questions,  which 
June  could  not  see  bore  on  the  issue  at  all.  Then  the 
doctor  resumed  with  Ruth. 

"  Did  you  have  ice-cream  for  dinner?  "  he  asked,  in- 
sinuatingly, holding  her  cheeks  in  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  see  anything  around  the  light,  Ruth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What?" 

"  I  can  see  a  rainbow." 

"  Did  you  have  two  dishes  of  ice-cream,  Ruth  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  It's  a  shame  the  way  they  starve  little  girls  here ; 
you  come  to  my  table  and  sit  next  to  me  and  you  shall 
have  two.  Does  that  hurt  very  much,  Ruth  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  That's  all.  You're  a  brave  little  chick.  And  you 
have  sweet  eyes ;  but  one  is  very,  very  sick.  The  right 
eye  is  in  bad  condition,  Mrs.  Eliot." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  it,  doctor  ? "  demanded 
June. 

"  Glaucoma." 

"What's  glaucoma?" 

24 


Doctor   Bryson 


He  looked  wryly  at  her.  "  A  very  troublesome 
thing." 

"  Can't  you  do  anything  for  it  ?  "  asked  June,  bluntly. 

"  Something  may  be  done  for  it,"  he  answered,  slow- 
ly. "  We  can't  always  say  whether  what  is  done  will 
do  any  good.'' 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story  if  you  want  to 
hear  it,"  broke  in  June,  with  her  accustomed  spirit. 
The  doctor's  manner  gave  the  impression  that,  while 
not  vitally  interested,  he  was  at  least  too  courteous  to 
dissuade  her,  and  June  did  not  wait  for  encouragement. 
"  Mrs.  Eliot  has  been  taking  Ruth  to  Doctor  Kurd ; 
she  never  heard  of  you — " 

Doctor  Bryson  looked  quizzically  at  Mrs.  Eliot. 
"  The  embarrassment  is  only  mine." 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  it  is  mine,  doctor,"  she  in- 
terposed, with  a  little  pathetic  smile. 

"  Well,  you  know  how  I  like  Kurd,"  stormed  June. 

"  How  do  you  like  him,  Ruth  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  in 
his  confidential  way. 

"  I  don't  like  him.  We  have  to  wait  so  long.  I  get 
so  hungry." 

"  And  I  told  her  mother  it  is  because  she  isn't  a  big 
bug  riding  around  in  a  carriage  that  he's  always  so 
busy,  and  I  told  her  /  had  a  friend — " 

"That  was  the  smartest  man  in  Chicago,"  inter- 
rupted the  doctor. 

" — and  I  wanted  him  to  see  the  eye,"  continued 
June,  unabashed,  "  and  say  just  what  he  thought  of  it. 
And  that  if  he  would  take  the  case  he  could  do  more 
than  all  the  other — "  Doctor  Bryson  groaned.  "  I 

25 


Doctor  Bryson 


don't  care,"  blurted  June,  "  I  said  more  than  all  the 
other  doctors  in  the  United  States." 

"  I  hope  you  know  her,"  observed  the  doctor  to  Mrs. 
Eliot. 

"  I  know  her  heart,"  returned  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  But, 
doctor,"  and  she  spoke  now  with  something  that 
pleaded  for  sincerity,  "  would  you  tell  me  what  you 
think — just  what  you  think  of  it  ?  "  It  was  a  hard  tone 
to  escape  from.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  reply.  "  It 
would  be  such  a  relief  to  have  your  judgment,"  she 
added,  watching  his  face. 

"  If  I  could  be  sure  it  would  be  a  relief,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  like  to  be  frank.  On  the  other  hand,"  he 
continued  after  a  pause,  "  I  am  in  a  delicate  position. 
Kurd  is  on  our  staff.  This  is  his  case,  and  it  is  a  grave 
one.  I  may  say,  though,  that  I  have  seen  the  eye  twice 
before." 

"  You  have  ?  "  exclaimed  the  women  together. 

"  Once  before  to-day,"  he  added,  "  but  that  was  in 
my  office.  Ruth  wouldn't  remember." 

"  I  remember,  sir." 

"  You  do — do  you  remember  ?  " 

"Why,  you  little  skit,  why  didn't  you  say  so?" 
cried  June. 

"  Ruth  doesn't  tell  all  she  knows,"  interposed  the 
doctor,  putting  his  hand  on  her  head.  She  looked  up 
at  him  an  instant,  questioningly,  twisted  her  fingers  to- 
gether, slid  off  her  stool,  and  sidled  childishly  between 
his  long  legs.  If  he  was  a  bit  startled  he  concealed  it. 
She  got  as  close  to  him  as  she  could  and  looked  then 
contentedly  over  at  June  and  at  her  mother ;  it  was  the 
confidence  of  a  child.  Doctor  Bryson  put  an  arm 

26 


Doctor   Bryson 


around  Ruth  and  bent  down  to  her.  "  Kurd,"  he  said, 
looking  at  Ruth  and  weighing  his  words,  "  asked  my 
opinion  to-day." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  June. 

"  He  asked  my  opinion  about  an  iridectomy.  He  has 
been  trying  to  pull  the  iris  down  with  eserine — " 

"What's  an  iridectomy,  doctor?"  demanded  June. 

"  Didn't  Kurd  explain  ?  "  asked  Bryson,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  He  spoke  of  an  operation,  but  he  did  not  explain." 

"  Explain  !  "  said  June,  savagely.  "  Oh,  he's  too 
busy.  I  explained  it  meant  five  hundred  dollars  before 
she  got  through.  Now  you  tell  us  all  about  what  it  is, 
doctor." 

"  An  iridectomy  is  a  delicate  and  complicated  opera- 
tion to  open  up  the  drainage  canal  of  the  eye  and  re- 
lieve the  excessive  interior  pressure." 

"  Doctor,"  exclaimed  June,  impulsively,  "  you  do  it 
— will  you  ?  " 

Bryson  squirmed.  His  demur  was  evident.  "  Kurd 
is  a  perfectly  competent  and  skilled  operator — " 

"  Operator  granny.  I  wouldn't  let  him  operate  on 
a  cat." 

"  Nonsense,  Miss  June." 

"  I  know  it  is  your  good  heart,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Eliot,  addressing  June,  "  but  we  have  no  right  to  im- 
pose on  Doctor  Bryson.  I  would  not  embarrass  you  in 
any  way,  doctor.  Only  my  own  bewilderment  has  led 
me  to  intrude  on  your  kindness — " 

"  I  take  the  responsibility,"  said  June,  defiantly.  "  If 
I'd  known  her  eye  was  so  bad  before,  I'd  have  brought 

27 


Doctor   Bryson 


her  over  here  before.  You  didn't  tell  me,"  she  said, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  I  haven't  any  right  to  lay  all  my  troubles  at  your 
door,  June." 

"  I  don't  care,"  snapped  June,  tossing  her  head  with 
gathering  spirit.  "  When  it  comes  to  saving  an  eye  for 
a  little  angel  like  that  child  this  whole  darned  boarding 
house  ought  to  turn  out  and  do  something.  My  god- 
f rey !  I'd  just  like  to  know  how  many  times  I've  car- 
ried meals  up  and  down  these  stairs  for  women  that 
wasn't  half  as  sick  as  I  was  all  the  time  I  was  waiting 
on  them.  I'd  like  to  know  how  many  times  I've  helped 
men  to  their  rooms  when  they  couldn't  tell  a  bell-boy 
from  a  beer  stein,"  she  stormed,  with  rising  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Now,  Miss  June,"  begged  Bryson,  dryly,  "  don't 
expose  us  in  that  way." 

"  Yes  I  have,  and  you  know  it  better  than  anybody 
else ! " 

"  Oh,  heavens,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  are  you  going  to 
make  me  out  a  public  drunkard  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  You  know  how  these 
fellows  carry  on.  You  know  what  Huntington  and 
Bowles  are — you've  helped  straighten  'em  out  yourself 
often  enough,  I  guess." 

"  And  you  put  mustard  plasters  on  me  one  night  till 
I  couldn't  wear  anything  but  vaseline  for  a  week,"  re- 
torted Bryson.  "  That  is  true,  Mrs.  Eliot.  She  did 
save  me  one  night — and  ever  since  I've  barely  had  the 
life  of  a  dog." 

"  Now,  I  say  when  we're  doing  such  things  all  the 
28 


Doctor   Bryson 


time  for  a  lot  of  good-for-nothings  that  everybody's 
got  to  do  all  they  can  for  this  child/' 

"  Everybody,  meaning  me,"  murmured  Bryson. 

"  Oh,  Miss  June,"  protested  Mrs.  Eliot  in  confusion. 

June  twisted  her  head.  "  Well,  it  wouldn't  be  the 
first  time  I've  meant  you,  doctor.  Nor  the  first  time 
you've  come  up  to  scratch,  either.  Give  the  devil  his 
due." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  association  of  ideas." 

"  Now,  doctor,"  June  did  not  weaken  for  a  moment, 
"  look  at  that  child.  She's  cuddling  up  there  to  you  out 
of  downright  pure  instinct.  She  knows  you  can  save 
her — it's  as  plain  as  my  face.  Don't — "  she  waved  at 
Mrs.  Eliot,  who  strove  to  interrupt.  "  Doctor,  you're 
going  to  do  it.  You  know  you  can  do  as  you  please 
down  there.  You  can  fix  it  somehow  to  get  rid  of 
Kurd — and  you  do  that  iribotamy  you  said,  yourself — 
now,  will  you  ? '' 

June  had  outdone  her  best;  she  paused  silenced  by 
her  own  eloquence.  Mrs.  Eliot  couldn't  speak;  the 
doctor  didn't  seem  to  want  to.  Ruth  looked  into  his 
face;  it  was  the  appeal  of  silence. 

"  Do  you  hear  what  she  said,  Ruth?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  She  pressed  closer  to  him. 
"  What  do  you  say  to  all  that?  " 

She  looked  into  his  face,  and  her  almost  sightless 
eye,  its  blue  stretched  wide  and  helpless,  struck  him 
hard.  She  hesitated,  squirmed,  looked  away  and  looked 
at  him  again.  "  I  love  you,  doctor,"  she  whispered. 

"  You  do,  you  little  darling  ?  "  he  cried,  surprised. 
"  You  do?  Well,  I'll  never  go  back  on  a  girl  that  loves 

29 


Doctor   Bryson 


me.  You're  the  first  girl  that  ever  told  me  that  in  my 
life.  Yes,  you  are — " 

"  He  never  gave  me  a  chance  to  express  my  feel- 
ings," muttered  June,  with  an  April  wink  at  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Come  in  here  and  see  my  big  bear,  Ruth,"  ex- 
claimed Bryson,  taking  her  by  the  shoulder.  "  Show 
her  the  bear,  Miss  June." 

"  Come  on,  Ruth,"  cried  June,  "  this  is  a  bigger  bear 
than  he  is.  There's  nothing  like  logic,  is  there,  doc- 
tor ?  "  she  added,  taking  Ruth  with  a  backward  glance 
of  triumph. 

"  Nothing  like  your  logic,  certainly.  It's  the  worst 
I  ever  saw,"  replied  Bryson. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  interposed  Mrs.  Eliot,  guarding  her 
gratitude  with  low  tones,  "  I  can  never  justify  myself 
in  coming  to  you  in  this  way.  It  is  all  so  unexpected — 
circumstances  have  seemed  to  run  away  with  me — " 

"  A  little  bit  with  all  of  us,  I  guess,"  Bryson  cut  in 
good-naturedly.  "  No  matter,  we  will  make  the  best 
of  them  now.  I  will  do  what  I  can,  at  least.  But  I 
ought  to  say  that  in  my  opinion  Kurd  can  do  every- 
thing I  can — the  chances  are  not  favorable  for  either  of 
us."  She  looked  quickly  at  him.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
words  to  say,  but  checked  herself;  he  paused  as  if  to 
ask  for  them. 

"  If  I  may  be  quite  frank,  doctor,  failure  would  be 
easier  to  bear  if  you  made  the  attempt  than  if  Doctor 
Kurd  made  it." 

"  Will  you  walk  into  the  den  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  able  to  pay  you  all  at  once  for  your 
services,  doctor,"  she  ventured,  pausing  in  front  of 

30 


Doctor   Bryson 


septics,  plain  in  the  receiving-room,  was  strong  in  the 
office. 

The  major  operations  in  the  morning  eye  clinic  were 
over;  the  assistants  were  making  ready  for  the  last. 
They  were  preparing  a  woman,  a  very  little,  very  old 
woman,  for  the  table.  Her  daughter,  herself  a  gray- 
haired  woman,  was  with  her  and  was  helping.  She 
was  quite  docile,  the  old  one,  as  they  made  her  ready. 
Once  she  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  nurse  who 
was  pinning  her  hair  into  a  linen  towel.  "  Bitte — et- 
was  Wasser,"  she  murmured.  But  the  head  nurse 
whispered  to  the  daughter  to  bid  her  mother  wait,  and 
the  little  old  woman,  quite  patient,  waited. 

In  the  ante-room  Bryson  had  slipped  out  of  his  coat 
again  and  into  his  gown.  A  man  and  a  woman  sitting 
in  front  of  the  table  got  up  and  walked  in  to  where  he 
stood  preparing  for  the  operation.  The  man's  right 
eye  was  bandaged  heavily  and  the  left  one  closed ;  the 
woman  led  him. 

"  Doctor,"  began  the  man,  irresolutely,  "  ain't  it  pos- 
sible no  way  to  save  it,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  talked  yesterday  with  a  doctor  over  at  the  In- 
firmary— he  thought  maybe  there  might  be  a  show  to 
save  it." 

"  You  had  better  let  him  handle  it  then." 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  the  man  went  on  in  a  broken 
way,  "  I'd  better  have  it  taken  out — the  way  you  said 
— but  the  woman,  doctor — she  can't  hardly  stand  me 
losing  th'  eye." 

He  was  a  laborer,  his  hands  big  and  gnarled.  He 
wore  a  canvas  coat,  a  cotton  shirt,  a  pair  of  overalls. 

33 


Doctor   Bryson 


His  feet  were  in  coarse  shoes  that  bunched  in  wrinkles 
over  the  insteps.  The  wife,  skirted  and  hooded  darkly, 
clung  in  wretched  silence  to  his  arm.  Bryson,  button- 
ing his  gown  snug,  spoke  rapidly  to  the  woman. 

"  If  you  don't  have  his  right  eye  taken  out  to-day  he 
will  lose  the  other  eye,  too.  Don't  you  understand  ?  I 
can  save  the  left  eye  if  I  operate  to-day  on  the  other — 
to-morrow,  I  told  you,  will  be  too  late.  There's  a  piece 
of  steel  in  there  as  big  as  my  finger-nail.  If  you  try  to 
save  that  eye  you  lose  both.  What  good  would  it  do 
to  save  it?  He  could  never  see  with  it,  anyway." 

He  spoke  fast,  and  his  words  fell  like  strokes  on  an 
anvil,  relentless.  It  was  the  wife  he  struck  at.  She 
shrunk,  womanlike,  from  the  pitiless  decree,  but, 
womanlike,  she  would  not  yield  her  husband's  eye.  An 
eye  so  good — none  better — only  week  before  last !  She 
stood  shrinking,  fortified  by  that  divine  armor  of  in- 
stinct which  is  woman's  alone.  Sometimes  it  goes 
wrong,  sometimes  it  costs  eyesight,  sometimes  happi- 
ness, sometimes  life — yet  woman  cannot  discard  it  if 
she  would.  She  hesitated,  writhed  under  the  torture, 
but  the  horror  she  put  off.  The  man  and  woman 
whispered  together  a  minute.  Then  the  man  spoke, 
his  voice  hoarse  with  his  struggle.  "  Doctor." 

"  Yes." 

"  She  thinks  as  she  couldn't  stand  it  to-day.  It's  a 
hard  thing  to  lose  me  eye." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Doctor  Bryson,  drawling  omi- 
nously the  first  word. 

"  We'll  come  back  to-morrow." 

"  All  right.    But  don't  come  back  to  me." 

"Why  not,  doctor?" 

34 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  won't  touch  it  after  to-day." 

"  Doctor,  I—" 

"  Not  after  to-day.  They're  waiting  for  me  at  the 
table.  You'll  have  to  excuse  me." 

Doctor  Bryson  walked  into  the  lecture-room.  The 
man,  led  by  his  wife,  followed  him.  Irresolution  stayed 
them,  and  they  sat  again  on  the  front  bench.  The  man 
bent  forward  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands ;  the 
woman,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  listened  va- 
cantly to  the  talk  of  Bryson,  now  taking  up  his  instru- 
ments for  the  operation  on  the  very  old  woman,  who 
lay  stretched  on  the  table. 

"  You  have  seen  this  eye,  gentlemen,"  he  was  saying. 
"  A  case  of  senile  cataract.  The  right  eye  went  nine 
years  ago  with  glaucoma."  Mrs.  Eliot  remembered 
that  dread  word.  "  The  left  appears  quite  healthy,  but 
the  sight  has  become  completely  obscured  by  a  cataract 
which  is  now,  as  you  have  observed,  ripe.  The  patient 
has  seen  eighty  years — more  than  are  likely  to  bother 
any  of  us,  but  I  would  operate  if  she  were  ninety.  Her 
health  is  good,  nichtwahr,  Mutter?  Sie  sind  ganz 
gesund,  nichtwar  ?  "  he  asked,  raising  his  voice  to  the 
little  woman  under  the  knife.  She  lifted  her  head 
slightly.  "  Ja,  ja,  Doctor.  Ich  bin  gesund,  bios  meine 
Augen — "  she  replied  in  the  shrunken  tone  of  age. 

"  Exactly.  Sei  ganz  ruhig  jetzt,  Mutter.  Ganz 
ruhig.  Verstehen  Sie?  Sound  and  maybe  with  twenty 
years  of  life  and  sight  ahead  of  her.  Cocaine,  four  per 
cent.,  makes  the  operation  simple,  safe  and  compara- 
tively pleasant,"  added  the  doctor,  mechanically  jovial. 
"  But  be  very  sure  your  patient  doesn't  grow  obstrep- 
erous after  you  get  your  knife  into  the  cornea.  It  is  one 

35 


of  the  most  satisfactory  operations  you  will  have."  He 
stopped,  for  the  delicate  blade  in  his  hand  was  already 
slipping  through  the  insensible  cornea — splitting  it, 
deftly,  as  a  butcher  splits  a  kidney.  It  went  all  with 
care,  yet  steadily.  Shimmering  instruments,  delicate 
manipulation,  eager  sponges,  weaving  fingers,  low 
voices,  and  from  her,  under  it  all,  quiet  and  silence 
absolute.  Eighty  years  had  trained  the  little  old 
woman;  she  lay  as  she  was  bid — very  still. 

Through  the  open  door  Mrs.  Eliot  and  June  saw  it 
all  in  a  kind  of  trance,  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  central 
figure — the  surgeon  of  the  eye.  They  watched  him  a 
long  time  bending  close,  passing  and  taking  instru- 
ments and  sponges,  and  at  last  he  handed  something  to 
the  head  nurse  on  a  bit  of  cotton  and  straightened  up 
like  one  whose  back  tires,  wiped  his  fingers  on  a  napkin, 
threw  it  into  the  wire  basket  on  the  floor  and  watched 
the  assistants  bandage  the  eye.  While  the  final  wrap- 
pings were  being  made,  Doctor  Bryson  was  washing 
his  hands.  Then  slipping  off  his  gown  and  taking  his 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket  he  rounded  up  informally 
and  amiably  his  class  talk,  throwing  into  it  nuggets  of 
advice  smoothed  with  pleasantries  and  polished  with 
conciseness. 

The  men  filed  from  the  benches,  some  leaving  the 
room,  more  crowding  forward  to  ask  questions.  The 
little  old  woman  was  helped  from  the  table.  She  put 
out  her  hands ;  her  daughter  took  them  and  the  mother 
whispered  to  her.  They  turned  to  the  head  nurse. 
"  My  mother  says  she  thank  you,"  said  the  younger 
woman.  The  nurse,  nodding,  told  the  daughter  her 
mother  was  a  good  patient.  They  turned  to  Bryson. 

36 


Doctor  Bryson 


He  laughed  as  the  thin  hands  of  the  old  one,  guided 
by  her  daughter's,  closed  over  one  of  his.  Trying  to 
speak,  she  could  not,  but  bending  she  kissed  the  hand 
that  had  touched  her  eye  that  she  might  see.  "  Gott 
sei  Dank,"  she  muttered,  huskily. 

"  Ach,  mein  lieber  Gott,  Mutter,"  exclaimed  Bryson, 
laughing,  "  das  ist  nichts.  Bitte,  bitte.  In  zwei, 
hochstens  drei  Wochen  sehen  Sie  wieder  gut." 

"  Ich  werde  fiir  Sie  beten,  Doctor." 

"  Danke,  danke,  Mutter.    Ich  empfehle  mich !  " 

"  What  does  she  say  ?"  asked  the  head  nurse,  smil- 
ing. 

"  She  says  she'll  pray  for  me.  How  is  that  girl  for 
the  grafting  at  two  o'clock?  Did  you  keep  her  from 
eating  ?  " 

Talking  together  they  walked  into  the  office  ante- 
room. The  lecture  hall  was  emptied  of  its  people.  All 
had  gone  their  ways  except  two — the  man  with  the 
steel  chip  in  his  eye  and  his  wife.  He  remained  just 
where  he  had  bent  when  he  sat  down,  with  his  face  in 
his  hands,  still  trying  to  decide  whether  to  have  it  out — 
his  eye.  And  she  sat  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
the  woman,  mourning,  comforting  in  silence.  The  doc- 
tor closed  the  ante-room  door  and  they  were  left  alone 
in  the  deserted  hall. 

"  Now,  Mistress  Ruth,"  exclaimed  Doctor  Bryson, 
taking  her  hands,  "  we'll  see  how  you  are  this  morning. 
You  didn't  get  mixed  up  in  that  quarrel  with  Jim  and 
Miss  Martin,  did  you?  You  just  left  Miss  June  to 
raise  her  row  all  alone." 

June  sat  like  one  waking  from  a  horrible  dream. 
She  held  her  unlucky  umbrella  in  a  grip  of  fear.  "  Doc- 

37 


Doctor   Bryson 


tor,"  she  demanded,  intently,  "  what  was  the  matter 
with  that  woman  ?  " 

"  The  one  I  operated  on  ?  Cataract.  She'll  be  all 
right  in  a  few  weeks." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  that  man  ?  " 

"Whatman?" 

"  That  poor  man  you  were  so  cross  to  and  wanted 
to  take  his  eye  out." 

"  That  man  is  a  railroad  laborer,"  said  the  doctor, 
placing  Ruth  in  front  of  him.  "  He  was  working  in 
a  yard-gang  week  before  last.  They  were  cutting  rails 
and  a  steel  chip  flew  from  the  chisel  he  was  holding 
and  struck  him  in  the  eye;  cut  through  the  lens — 
everything." 

"  Lord,  you  were  cruel  about  it.  I  didn't  know  you 
could  be  so  cruel." 

"  Cruelty  is  only  kindness,  Miss  June,  when  you 
face  a  crisis.  I  could  save  his  good  eye  by  taking 
the  other  out  at  once.  By  to-morrow  inflammation 
will  have  gone  so  far  as  to  ruin  the  good  eye.  I 
gave  him  his  choice,  didn't  I?  If  I  had  hummed  and 
hawed  they  wouldn't  have  done  anything  till  it  was 
too  late.  They  may  not  in  any  case.  If  they  don't 
it  will  be  because  they  lack  confidence  in  my  opinion, 
won't  it  ?  "  June  nodded.  "  Then  they  should  keep 
away  from  me.  Unless  you  have  confidence  in  a 
doctor  keep  away  from  him.  If  they  came  back  too 
late  and  I  tried  to  take  out  the  bad  eye  and  save  the 
good  one  I  should  fail,  shouldn't  I  ?  Then  they  would 
blame  me,  wouldn't  they?  Take  off  your  hat,  Ruth, 
so  I  can  see  your  curls.  Why,  they're  just  like  sunshine 

38 


Doctor   Bryson 


and  gold,  aren't  they?  Now  let's  see  how  you  count 
fingers  this  morning." 

After  he  had  taken  her  vision  he  went  with  her  to  the 
dark  room  and  was  gone  a  long  time.  June  grew  im- 
patient and  Mrs.  Eliot  anxious.  When  they  returned 
the  doctor  was  chatting  and  Ruth  smiling.  "  Now," 
said  he  to  June,  "  you  take  Ruth  into  the  receiving- 
room  and  show  her  those  big  pictures  a  moment  while 
I  talk  to  her  mother,  will  you  ?  " 

"  We  were  gone  a  good  while,"  he  remarked  to  Mrs. 
Eliot  as  June  closed  the  door  behind  her.  He  sat  in  his 
chair  and  Mrs.  Eliot,  one  of  her  hands  resting  on  the 
table  between  them,  sat  opposite.  Her  attitude  was  one 
of  anxious  expectancy,  and  in  talking  he  spoke  with 
deliberate  care,  neither  solemnly  nor  yet  lightly,  play- 
ing frequently,  as  his  elbows  also  rested  on  the  table, 
with  an  ivory  pocket-rule. 

"  You  were  making  an  examination,  doctor." 

"  Your  little  girl  interests  me." 

"  Thank  you,  doctor."  She  waited  for  him  to  con- 
tinue, but  he  studied  the  ivory  rule. 

"  Is  it— is  it—" 

"  You  wish  to  know  whether  it  is  serious,"  he  said, 
taking  up  the  sentence  she  could  not  finish.  "  I  under- 
stand. On  my  part  I  want  to  be  frank  without  causing 
unnecessary  anxiety.  It  is  serious." 

"But,  doctor — her  eye  can  be  saved?"  she  asked, 
with  undefinable  fear. 

He  answered  carefully  and  with  some  reluctance. 
"  It  may  be." 

"  Do  you  think  it  can  ?  "  she  echoed  with  less  hope. 

Her  eyes  were  bent  on  htm ;  he  looked  out  of  the 

39 


Doctor   Bryson 


window.  It  was  an  instant  before  he  answered,  and 
his  features  fixed  in  the  uncertainty  that  he  made  no 
effort  to  hide.  "  You  ask  a  hard  question.  It  might  be 
answered  brutally — or  hopefully ;  to  answer  it  positive- 
ly is  hard.  No  one  likes  to  go  on  record  in  a  case  like 
this.  My  opinions  are  sometimes  quoted;  sometimes 
misquoted." 

"  I  know,  doctor,"  she  interposed,  cutting  him  off, 
''  it  was  the — the  shock,"  she  said,  helplessly.  "  Doctor 
Kurd  gave  me  less  real  hope.  I  should  not  have 
asked—" 

"  You  have  every  right  to  ask — Ruth  is  a  delicate 
child,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  She  isn't  sickly,  doctor." 

"  But  not  vigorous — robust.  She  is  mild,  delicate, 
gentle." 

"  Mentally  so." 

"  The  physical  traits  precede  the  mental,"  he  mused, 
"  and  in  the  end  it  is  the  physical  that  tells  the  story. 
In  glaucoma — secondary  glaucoma,  as  this  is — " 

"  But  what  is  glaucoma,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Frankly,  I  don't  know.  If  we  knew — "  his  eyes 
changed — "  if  we  really  knew.  I  can  give  you  the 
definition — anybody  can  do  that.  The  fluids  that  feed 
the  eye  fail  to  discharge;  tHe  ball  becomes  tense  from 
inward  pressure,  just  as  you  might  fill  a  toy  bladder  to 
bursting.  The  delicate  coatings  of  the  retina  are  torn 
ancl  detached  by  ever  increasing  pressure.  The  eye- 
ball becomes  hard — stony  hard;  the  optic  nerve  is 
cupped  into  its  canal — the  field  of  vision  gradually  nar- 
rows— sight  flickers  like  a  sinking  candle — dies.  We 
call  it  glaucoma.  We  have  the  theories  as  to  its  cause 

40 


Doctor  Bryson 


—theories.  To  look  with  an  ophthalmoscope  into  a 
good  eye,"  he  said,  changing  his  tone,  "  is  to  look  upon 
life  at  the  spring-time — at  the  best — red  and  warm. 
The  glaucomatous  eye  is  like  a  landscape  blasted — bar- 
ren, gray,  dead.  Ruth's  eye  is  not  that  yet ;  it  is  living, 
but  fearfully  sick." 

His  eyes  met  hers.  She  could  not  support  them,  and 
her  own  turned  to  the  big  window.  "  I  will  undertake 
the  attempt  to  save  it,"  he  added.  "  I  will  do  what  I 
can,  but  this  you  must  not  forget:  the  chances  are 
against  me." 

She  sat,  aware  of  each  shading  of  his  tone,  busy  with 
inference  from  each  inflection,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. He  himself,  quick,  instant  to  every  impression, 
watched  her  narrowly  and  waited  for  her  to  look  back. 
"  Feel  at  perfect  liberty  to  ask  for  another  opinion,"  he 
continued.  "  I  will  call  in  one  of  our  star  men  if  you 
wish.  The  opinion  of  another  might  be  more  favor- 
able." 

"  But  not  more  able  or  more  honest,  doctor,"  she  re- 
plied, looking  into  his  face.  His  eyes  dropped. 

"  I  make  mistakes,"  he  said,  simply.  "  Sometimes 
grave  ones." 

"  You  can  afford,  I  am  sure,  to  admit  them,"  she  re- 
turned. "  Your  reputation  is  not  what  it  is  without 
reason,  and  your  fame  brings  deserved  rewards.  But 
your  kind  frankness,  doctor,  makes  me  say  without  re- 
serve that  my  own  resources  are  slight.  I  fear — "  His 
hand  lifted  itself  from  the  table  in  protest.  "  I  shall 
not  tax  your  resources,"  he  remarked,  humorously. 
"  Miss  June  has  been  kind  to  me  and  I  am  glad  to  do 
anything  for  a  friend  of  hers." 

41 


Doctor  Bryson 


Mrs.  Eliot  took  his  spirit.  "  And  I  mustn't  lean  too 
much  on  Miss  June's  kindness." 

"  No  matter,"  he  laughed,  "  we  are  started.  I  will 
undertake  Ruth's  eye,  only  I  shall  have  to  ask  entire 
confidence." 

"  That  will  not  be  hard  to  give,  doctor." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  he  said,  dropping  his 
head  wryly. 


Doctor   Bryson 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  dining-room  at  Miss  Borderlys'  had  distinct 
sets.  The  affairs  of  the  big  basement  were  like 
the  affairs  of  a  town.  There  was  one  table  of  widows, 
women  with  small  competences  and  men  of  the  left- 
over sort  with  sense  enough  to  cling  to  what  they  had 
picked  up  earlier  in  the  struggle.  But  this  effort  to 
keep  their  competency  absorbed  their  mental  activity 
and  nothing  living  remained  of  their  intellects.  These 
people  formed  a  set  not  so  much  of  abilities  in  com- 
mon as  of  limitations  in  common.  There  was  a  trav- 
eling men's  table  where,  except  on  Sundays  and  holi- 
days, no  man  sat ;  at  all  other  times  it  was  given  over 
to  the  wives  of  traveling  men.  There  were  tables 
filled  entirely  by  young  business  men  and  their  wives 
— of  men  who  run  the  business  of  the  great  down- 
town houses — men  who  were  working  so  hard  and 
making  money  so  fast  that  their  very  eyes  wrinkled 
with  the  suspicion  that  somebody  might  somehow 
get  some  of  it  away  from  them.  Alert  men,  these, 
marvelously  alert  in  ear  and  eye  and  reply  and  prodi- 
gal of  smiles,  but  of  smiles  haunted  with  the  possi- 
bility that  they  might  at  any  time  be  called  on  for  a 
temporary  advance.  There  were  women's  tables — 
taken  wholly  by  women  that  earned  their  livings. 
Women,  if  you  will,  of  misfortune,  if  it  really  be  a 

43 


Doctor   Bryson 


misfortune  to  be  independent — and  of  industry  and 
brains  and  hearts.  These  women,  it  must  be  under- 
stood, were  not  of  the  rank  and  file  of  workers,  for 
at  Miss  Borderlys'  it  costs  to  live.  They  were  chief- 
ly women  that  command  large  salaries. 

It  was  not  the  fact  that  the  Annex  set  so  far  led  the 
others  at  Miss  Borderlys'  that  made  it  the  most  inter- 
esting. There  were,  at  the  Annex  tables,  some  clever 
men  and  women,  quite  a  number — yet  not,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  more  notable  for  what  they  had  done  than 
those  of  the  upper  rooms.  But  the  Annex  set  at  Miss 
Borderlys'  was  the  set  that  had  things  and  went  to 
places;  not  only  had  money,  but  spent  money.  In  a 
word,  the  Annex  set  made  the  noise,  furnished  the  ex- 
citement, the  diversion,  for  the  house.  They  were 
people  to  look  at,  people  to  talk  about. 

The  Annex  tables  were  like  good  society;  they 
catered  to  people  that  had  money.  Some  of  the  set  had 
it  because  they  had  earned  it ;  others,  because  they  had 
got  it ;  at  all  events  they  had  it  or  they  wouldn't  have 
been  in  the  Annex.  At  the  smaller  and  "  sweller " 
table  sat  John  C.  Allison,  a  lawyer,  and  a  rising  one — 
solicitor  for  the  East  Side  Street  Railway.  Bowles  had 
place  there  because  he  was  as  sparkling  as  clear  water. 
Edward  Mitchell,  always  "  Ed.,"  was  there  because  he 
was  a  marine  man  interested  in  a  big  fleet  of  steel  boats, 
and  his  wife  was  the  daughter  of  the  president  of  the 
line.  Huntington,  who  was  good-natured  and  drank 
freely,  was  there  because  he  had  not  yet  been  "  fired," 
as  Miss  June  put  it.  Bryson  was  there  because  he  was 
a  "  top-notcher "  and  couldn't  reasonably  be  placed 
anywhere  else.  There  were  three  women  in  this  com- 

44 


Doctor   Bryson 


pany.  Miss  Montague  was  a  young  woman  and  of 
nothing  less  than  brilliant  attainments;  it  is  fair  that 
she  should  be  frankly  described  as  such.  She  painted 
miniatures.  She  had  lived  with  the  Miss  Borderlys'  be- 
fore she  had  won  fame,  and  she  had  the  taste  after- 
wards to  stay  with  them.  At  this  table  sat  Mrs.  God- 
dard.  Her  seat  was  frankly  at  the  disposal  of  anyone 
that  could  win  it  from  her,  but  it  would  have  been  a 
brave  woman  who  should  attempt  to  displace  her  in 
charm  of  talk  and  manner.  She  was  immensely  inter- 
esting; that  was  her  capital,  and  she  kept  her  assets 
intact  by  judicious  husbanding.  Of  liabilities  she  had 
none,  unless  her  husband  should  be  thrown  to  the  bad 
side.  But  Goddard,  who  had  a  shocking  laugh  and  a 
red  patch  of  a  birthmark  on  his  temple,  was  away  at 
the  mines  most  of  the  time  and  did  not  figure  often  on 
the  dining-room  sheet.  The  men  liked  Mrs.  Goddard, 
and  in  a  boarding  house  it  is  what  the  men  like  that 
counts;  women,  in  the  best  establishments,  are,  after 
all,  only  tolerated. 

Mrs.  Ledgcott  sat  at  this  table,  and  she  was  a  pleas- 
ing mystery,  for  nobody  could  tell  why  she  sat  there. 
It  is  something,  however,  in  Chicago  to  "  keep  people 
guessing  " — Mrs.  Ledgcott  kept  people  guessing.  They 
guessed  at  how  much  money  she  had,  how  old  she  was, 
how  long  she  would  keep  her  looks  and  her  figure,  and 
whether  her  diamonds  were  real,  and  whether  her  di- 
vorce was  justified,  and  whether  a  saint  like  Johnnie 
Ledgcott  could  be  the  own  child  of  a  woman  so  strong 
in  the  possibilities  of  the  sinner. 

For  there  was  one  more  who  sat  at  the  swell  Annex 
table — a  child,  Johnnie  Ledgcott,  a  Chicago  boy,  a 

45 


boarding-house  boy,  fair  as  ten  years  and  careless  art 
could  make  him;  unspoiled  because  watched  over  by 
angels — what  else  could  have  saved  him  in  a  boarding 
house?  Johnnie  Ledgcott,  a  little  soldier,  a  little 
knight,  a  little  gentleman — Johnnie  Ledgcott ;  he  made 
up  the  table. 

When  Johnnie  found  out  a  new  little  girl  had  come 
to  Miss  Borderlys'  he  was  a  very  happy  boy.  He  knew 
nothing  of  sets ;  he  knew  just  that  she  was  a  little  girl 
and  the  loveliest  he  had  ever  seen,  for  each  little  girl 
succeeding  the  last  in  Johnnie's  world  was  sweeter  than 
she  that  had  gone  before.  Ruth  Eliot,  indeed,  would 
have  set  a  hard  pace  for  any  juvenile  queen.  Ruth  had 
bobbing  curls,  and  gentleness  spoke  out  of  her.  Her 
blue  eyes  were  so  blue  that  Johnnie  could  never  be 
brought  to  believe  they  were  really  sick ;  and  in  her 
voice  every  one  of  his  dreams  came  tumbling  true.  The 
first  time  he  ever  saw  Ruth  he  asked  Miss  June  where 
she  lived,  and  after  a  hasty  breakfast  he  picked  up  his 
highest  priced  toys,  all  he  could  stagger  under,  and  set 
bravely  through  the  dark  halls  across  to  the  north  end 
where  Ruth  lived.  There  he  laid  the  choicest  speci- 
mens at  her  feet.  No  proposals,  no  bargaining,  no 
stipulations;  unconditional  tribute — that  was  Johnnie 
Ledgcott,  and  everybody  loved  him— except  his  mother, 
who  thought  she  idolized  him. 

Johnnie  had  the  courtesies  of  the  Annex  den,  as  the 
Allison-Bryson  room  was  called,  and  that  night,  just 
before  dinner,  Doctor  Bryson,  while  dressing,  was 
telling  Johnnie  of  the  fairy  girl  that  lived  under  the 
very  same  roof  without  Johnnie's  knowing  it.  It  made 
Johnnie  blush  violently  even  to  hear  her  name  men- 

46 


Doctor   Bryson 


tioned,  but  he  did  not  correct  Doctor  Bryson;  he  al- 
lowed him  to  think  that  he  was  the  first  man  that  had 
reached  the  North  Pole.  At  dinner  Bryson  was  telling 
Allison  about  her. 

"  She  is  one  of  the  little  girls  you  read  about,"  said 
he.  "  I  suppose  she's  suffered  more  than  all  of  us  at 
this  table  put  together  in  all  our  lives,  and  she  hardly 
makes  a  complaint.  Examining  her  eye  this  morning 
I  asked  her  when  it  hurt  the  most.  What  do  you  think 
she  answered  ?  '  When  her  mother  was  worrying 
about  it.'  " 

"  How  sweet,"  murmured  Mrs.  Ledgcott.  "  Think 
of  that,  Johnnie.  How  good  you  ought  to  be  to  your 
mother,  dear.  Children  don't  often  think  of  their  poor 
mothers  like  that." 

"  Sometimes,  don't  you  think,  it's  perhaps  the 
mother's  fault  ?  "  suggested  John  Allison. 

"  Oh,  doubtless,"  assented  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  recogniz- 
ing the  justice  of  the  suggestion  with  a  fondly  sad  ex- 
pression. "  Some  mothers,  heaven  knows,  are  selfish. 
Who  is  Mrs.  Eliot,  doctor  ?  "  she  asked,  prettily^ 

"  One  of  the  newcomers,  I  believe." 

"  Is  she  in  the  Annex?  " 

"  I  think  not ;  she's  in  the  north  end." 

"  Oh." 

"  What's  on  to-night  ?  "  asked  John  Allison. 

"Joy,"  smiled  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  I  know — it's  always  joy  in  the  Annex.  But  what 
particular  kind  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  know  ?  We're  going  down  to  Central 
Music  Hall  with  Mr.  Bowles,"  announced  Mrs.  Ledg- 

47 


Doctor   Bryson 


cott.  "  You  and  Doctor  Bryson  and  Miss  Montague 
and  Mrs.  Goddard  and  I — " 

"  It's  another  of  Bowles's  free  shows.  We  go  to 
fill  the  house,"  explained  Bryson.  "  What  is  it  to- 
night, Bowles  ?  " 

"  A  Pole." 

"What  sort  of  a  pole?" 

"  A  matchless  Pole.  I  take  you  folks  to  see  people 
before  anybody  hears  of  them.  A  year  from  now  this 
fellow  will  be  playing  at  the  Auditorium  and  the  town 
will  be  raving  about  him.  It's  like  letting  you  in  on 
the  ground  floor  of  a  great  scheme;  but  people  never 
appreciate  these  things." 

"That's  right,"  assented  Bryson.  "When  other 
folks  begin  to  talk  about  a  thing  Bowles  is  done  with 
it.  I've  noticed  that.  Well,  what  does  your  man 
play?" 

"  He  begins  at  eight  fifteen  and,  as  I  understand, 
plays  ball  right  from  the  start  till  ten  o'clock." 

"  No — but  what  does  he  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Mitchell. 

"  He  manipulates  the  ivories." 

"  A  billiard  show  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ledgcott  in 
horror. 

"  Oh,  no.  It's  a  piano  show,"  explained  Mrs.  God- 
dard, "  and  everybody  is  to  be  '  up '  at  seven  forty-five, 
aren't  they,  Mr.  Bowles  ?  " 

"  On  pain  of  paying  their  own  car-fare." 

Bryson  left  the  table  first.  In  the  hall  he  met  June. 
She  stopped  him. 

"  How'd  you  fix  it  with  Kurd  ?  "  she  asked  with  a 
twinkle. 

"  How  will  you  fix  it  with  your  Creator  for  getting 

48 


Doctor   Bryson 

me  into  a  scrape  like  that?  Kurd  had  hydrophobia. 
He  was  going  to  kill  me.  You  needn't  say  anything 
about  that  to  Mrs.  What's-her-name ;  she  seems  to  be 
of  the  worrying  kind,  anyway." 

"  Mrs.  Eliot  ?  She  is.  She's  always  worrying  about 
something  or  other.  But  she  says  you're  just  too  good 
for  anything,  doctor." 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Eliot,  Miss  June?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  a  kind  of  pet  relation  of  mine.  Not  a 
blood  relation;  just  a  pet  relation,  you  know.  Her 
mother  and  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Ward,  were  raised  together, 
and  our  folks  all  used  to  live  near  each  other  in  Evans- 
ton — that  was  the  way  of  it.  Her  fathe:  was  a  big 
lumber  merchant  and  lost  his  money  in  the  panic  of  '93. 
They  had  a  big  place  on  the  Ridge  and  I  used  to  go 
over  and  play  with  her  in  the  sand-pile  when  she  was  a 
little  bit  of  a  tot  like  Ruth." 

"  Where's  her  husband  ?    Dead  ?  " 

"  No.  But  he'd  a  good  sight  better  be.  He  married 
her  because  he  thought  he'd  be  getting  a  fortune.  The 
same  year  they  got  married  her  father  lost  all  his 
money  and  died.  Next  year  Eliot  left  her  to  shift  for 
herself  with  that  baby  on  her  hands — then  her  mother 
died.  Grief —  My  godfrey,  what  does  she  want  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  shot  at  a  passing  maid  who 
told  her  Miss  Mary  was  looking  for  her.  The  doctor 
passed  on  upstairs.  He  came  down  from  his  room  a 
little  ahead  of  his  party  ready  for  the  concert.  Punc- 
tuality had  made  him  ;  it  now  dominated  him.  Passing 
the  folding  doors  of  the  reception-room  he  heard  music 
and  glanced  through  the  portieres  into  the  dimly- 
lighted  room.  Near  the  piano  sat  Miss  June  listening 

49 


Doctor  Bryson 


to  a  woman  who  was  playing;  he  looked  twice  before 
he  recognized  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  entering  during  a  lull, 
gloves  and  hat  in  hand.  Mrs.  Eliot  wheeled  and 
nodded  simply.  "  Come  in ;  nobody  but  us,"  said  June. 
"  Go  ahead ;  play  that  queer  piece  I  like.  This  is  the 
first  time  she  has  played  for  me  in  a  month,"  com- 
plained June  to  the  doctor.  Mrs.  Eliot  smiled  at  her. 
"  I  haven't  felt  much  like  playing  lately.  You  sug- 
gested keeping  Ruth  as  cheerful  as  possible,"  she  ex- 
plained to  the  doctor  in  an  undertone.  "  This  is  for 
her  benefit." 

"  I  should  have  suggested  your  keeping  me  cheerful 
if  I  had  known  you  could  play  like  that,"  he  remarked, 
sitting  down.  "  Please  don't  stop.  Where  is  Ruth  ?  " 
he  added,  looking  around.  She  was  in  the  front  parlor 
sitting  very  quietly  with  Johnnie  Ledgcott.  The  doc- 
tor started. 

"  Oh,  ho,  Johnnie  Ledgcott,"  cried  he,  pointing  his 
finger.  "  You're  a  sly  one.  I  was  trying  to  tell  him 
before  dinner  about  a  new  little  girl  in  the  house,  and 
I'll  bet  he  knows  more  about  her  than  I  do.  And  he 
never  peeped  a  word.  What  have  you  to  say  now, 
Johnnie?" 

Johnnie  looked  conscious,  but  there  appeared  nothing 
for  him  to  say,  so  he  said  nothing.  Something  always 
happens  for  people  as  sensible  as  that.  Bryson,  wait- 
ing to  hear  more  music,  abandoned  the  inquiry.  Mrs. 
Eliot,  reluctant  to  continue,  seemed  unwilling  to  ap- 
pear ungracious. 

Turning  again  to  the  keys,  one  of  her  hands  rippled 
haltingly  through  the  treble,  lingered  a  moment  over 

50 


Doctor   Bryson 


a  seventh,  then  settling  on  the  stool  she  brought  up  her 
left  hand  and  her  fingers  followed  one  another  into  a 
rolling,  uneven  melody  that  grew  into  something  like  a 
spell.  The  music  absorbed  her.  She  fell  into  the 
rhythm  herself  and  she  ran  from  phrase  to  phrase  till  it 
ran  quite  away  from  her  fingers.  She  broke,  shook  her 
head  impatiently,  bent  in  a  pretty  protest  and  her  fin- 
gers flew  again  into  the  troublesome  passage.  She  as- 
sailed it  this  time  with  a  perfect  burst  of  strength  and 
feeling,  and  rounded  it  with  a  sudden  effectiveness  that 
brought  Bryson's  hair  up  standing.  Then  her  hands 
drew  in  the  last  runs,  danced  into  the  final  chords, 
stopped.  With  bent  head,  her  eyes  on  the  keys  and  her 
hands  folded,  she  sat  silent.  Bryson  felt  a  pleased  as- 
tonishment, something  full  in  his  throat.  Surprise, 
admiration,  gratification,  crowded  upon  him. 

"  That's  really  great,"  he  stammered. 

"  Isn't  it?  "  echoed  June,  clapping  her  Hands.  "  It's 
a  burning  shame  you  won't  play  oftener,"  she  cried  in- 
dignantly. Mrs.  Eliot  swung  on  the  stool  while  they 
continued  to  exclaim.  There  was  more  light  in  her  face 
than  usual.  "  Oh,  play  that  over  again,"  Doctor  Bry- 
son Hegged.  She  smiled  at  something  June  was  saying 
and  looked  over  his  head.  "  I  think  your  party  is  in  the 
hall,"  she  ventured. 

"  Never  mind  them ;  keep  right  on/'  he  urged.  While 
she  demurred  Mrs.  Goddard  and  Mrs.  Ledgcott  in  their 
wraps  walked  in,  followed  by  Allison  and  Bowles. 
There  were  introductions.  Ruth  was  called  forward. 
Bryson  told  his  story  on  Johnnie,  and  Mrs.  Eliot  told 
how  he  had  brought  over  his  toys,  and  he  had  such 
nice  ones,  she  said. 

51 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  He  says  you  gave  them  to  him,  doctor,"  said  Ruth, 
softly;  and  all  laughed  at  the  doctor,  at  least  all  but 
Mrs.  Ledgcott.  She  urged  the  party  to  hasten  on  and 
join  Miss  Montague,  who,  she  reminded  them,  would 
be  waiting  at  the  drug  store. 

At  the  concert  Bryson  sat  next  to  Mrs.  Ledgcott. 
She  watched  eagerly  for  the  appearance  of  the  great 
pianist.  The  audience  was  not  large.  Bryson,  alone  of 
his  party,  did  not  grow  enthusiastic  as  the  playing  pro- 
ceeded ;  the  recalls  began  early,  but  the  great  Polish 
artist  fought  shy  of  them.  Near  the  close  of  the  pro- 
gramme he  did  respond,  and  when  he  reappeared 
the  house  was  on  its  feet.  Hardly  acknowledging  the 
ovation,  he  went  straight  to  the  piano,  and  after  a  con- 
fident storm  of  chords  broke  into  the  very  piece  Mrs. 
Eliot  had  played  in  the  parlor.  It  lifted  Bryson  almost 
out  of  his  chair. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked,  abruptly,  as  the  pianist's 
head  nodded  queerly  at  the  piano  and  the  air  about 
them  grew  white  with  handkerchiefs.  "  What  was  that 
piece  he  played,  Mrs.  Ledgcott  ?  "  he  shouted  through 
the  din. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know,"  cried  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  her  baby 
face  close  to  his.  "  Just  look  at  the  people.  Did  you 
ever  in  your  life  see  anything  like  it?"  she  panted. 
Bowles  certainly  was  vindicated ;  but  Bryson  persisted 
in  his  question.  He  kept  asking  till  a  gentleman  in 
front  turned  around.  "  You  mean  the  last  piece  ?  the 
encore?  That  was  '  The  Flatterer '  by  Chaminade." 

"  The  Flutterer— " 

"  Flatterer." 

"  Flatterer.    Thank  you,  sir."    Then  he  told  every- 

52 


Doctor   Bryson 


body  in  his  party  what  it  was  and  asked  if  they  ever 
heard  anything  like  it  in  their  lives.  But  it  was  only 
to  Miss  June  next  morning  that  he  insisted  Mrs.  Eliot 
had  played  it  a  good  deal  better  than  the  man  the  papers 
were  talking  about. 

He  went  down-town  that  morning  thinking  about 
Mrs.  Eliot's  playing.  When  he  reached  his  office  he 
looked  first  at  the  chair  where  she  had  sat  the  day  be- 
fore. When  he  took  off  his  coat  he  was  asking  himself 
when  he  should  see  her  again  to  tell  her  how  well  she 
played  and  to  talk  about  "  The  Flatterer."  The  thought 
suggested  Ruth  and  her  eye.  He  realized  now  that  the 
first  time  he  had  looked  at  it — Kurd  had  brought  her  in 
once  and  asked  for  his  opinion — he  had  concluded  she 
would  go  blind.  Glaucoma  is  a  frightful  thing  and  he 
could  not,  of  a  sudden,  understand  how  he  came  to  ex- 
press a  different  opinion;  how  he  came  to  agree  even 
to  attempt  to  save  the  eye.  She  probably  would,  he 
felt,  go  blind.  First,  after  the  iridectomy,  the  right 
eye;  then  the  left;  they  sometimes  went  that  way. 
How  many  years,  how  many  months  ?  he  mused  vacant- 
ly to  himself. 

Brushing  his  hair,  he  saw  his  face  in  the  mirror  and 
looked  at  his  features  critically  and  with  a  new  curios- 
ity. He  walked  to  the  washstand  and  began  washing 
his  hands.  She  was  married,  and,  of  course,  nothing 
to  him — but  who  was  her  husband,  he  wondered,  that 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  provide  for  a  woman  like  her  and 
a  child  like  Ruth.  He  himself,  he  reflected,  was  mak- 
ing from  a  thousand  to  two  thousand  dollars  a  month ; 
one  month,  that  was  the  biggest  he  had  ever  had,  forty- 
two  hundred  dollars.  That  was  the  month  he  had 

53 


Doctor   Bryson 


operated  on  the  eye  of  a  Montana  copper  man.  The 
check  was  a  surprise,  for  his  fee  was  one  thousand  dol- 
lars and  the  check  had  come  for  twenty-five  hundred. 
He  had  asked  more  that  morning  of  June  about  Mrs. 
Eliot.  Was  she  divorced?  No,  June  had  said,  not 
divorced.  And  thinking,  Bryson  kept  washing,  wash- 
ing, washing,  his  hands.  It  was  such  a  resolute  pleas- 
ure, hand  washing.  While  the  water  ran  warm  and 
free  his  thoughts  ran  in  a  stream.  He  washed  his 
hands  a  hundred  times  a  day,  for  sometimes  he  cast  up 
matters  as  often  as  that  with  himself  and  there  was 
the  constant  danger  of  infection.  But  her  eyes;  such 
eyes  that  woman  had.  He  knew  something  about 
eyes — ought  to,  he  thought — they  were  finer  than 
Ruth's  even,  though  Ruth  had  her  mother's  eyes. 
Could  that  child's  eye  be  saved?  he  asked  himself, 
wiping  his  hands.  He  rubbed  his  fingers  till  they 
were  white  and  hard.  Then  looking  at  the  clock  he 
went  over  his  finger-nails  very  fast  with  his  file.  His 
lips  set  as  he  put  it  away  presently,  shut  the  toilet 
cabinet  and  opened  the  door  of  the  lecture-room.  The 
morning  was  fine,  the  class  large.  He  bowed  and 
looked  at  the  nurses  and  assistants  seated,  waiting, 
asked  for  a  patient  and  turned  to  scan  the  instrument 
trays,  when  suddenly  he  thought  of  the  toe  of  Mrs. 
Eliot's  boot  as  she  had  sat  at  the  piano  stool  with  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap.  It  was  the  toe  of  one  boot. 
He  had  never  seen  the  other,  but  there  may  be  a  dan- 
gerous symmetry  even  in  the  toe  of  one  boot  of  an 
American  woman.  A  wall-eyed  boy  was  brought  for- 
ward. The  doctor  took  him  in  hand,  and  beginning 
with  his  usual  talk  on  divergent  strabismus,  the  sym- 

54 


Doctor  Bryson 


metry  of  Mrs.  Eliot's  boot  recurred  to  him.  It  ran  in 
his  head  right  along  with  his  dissertation  and  persisted 
until  he  was  ready  to  operate.  Then  it  had  to  give  way 
to  the  intense  concentration  that  he  summoned  to  the 
use  of  his  instruments. 

He  worked  hard  and  fast  till  eleven  o'clock.  The 
next  hour  went  to  his  private  practice ;  twelve  until  one 
to  another  lecture.  At  one-thirty  he  lunched  with  John 
Allison  at  the  Athletic  Club  and  learned  the  particulars 
of  the  new  five  million  stock  issue  of  the  East  Side 
Street  Railway  Company,  which  was  to  be  divided  as 
a  bonus  at  par  among  stockholders  pro  rata.  John 
pronounced  it  a  good  thing  and  Bryson,  when  they  left 
the  dining-room,  was  going  to  tell  his  broker  to  buy 
fifty  shares  of  the  stock  in  the  morning,  but  John  asked 
him  not  to  telephone :  to  walk  around  to  La  Salle  Street 
and  give  the  order  verbally  so  there  wouldn't  be  even 
a  danger  of  publicity.  It  was  a  small  matter,  true,  but 
there  were  unnumbered  tailers  listening  for  tips,  and 
John  Allison  was  known  to  be  high  in  the  company 
policy. 

From  La  Salle  Street,  where  Bryson  left  John,  he 
walked  to  his  office  and  went  to  the  library.  He  read 
till  six  o'clock  and  went  in  to  dinner  at  Miss  Borderlys' 
late.  Dining,  he  was  uncommunicative  and  he  denied 
himself  the  card  party  in  Mrs.  Ledgcott's  room  that 
evening,  going  instead  straight  upstairs  to  the  den.  He 
fixed  himself  in  a  Morris  chair  before  the  fire  with  a 
book.  His  capacity  for  research  was  enormous,  for  at 
half-past  eleven,  when  John  came  up,  he  was  reading. 
John,  after  a  cigar,  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep ;  he  woke 
and  Bryson  was  reading.  It  was  one  o'clock.  John 

55 


Doctor   Bryson 


got  up  for  a  glass  of  water,  but  neither  spoke.  He 
slept  and  woke  again.  The  student  lamp  was  burning. 
Bryson's  books  lay  in  a  heap  on  the  floor  and  he  sat 
with  his  legs  crossed  before  the  dying  fire,  his  head 
supported  wearily  on  his  hand.  Six  hours  of  reading 
one  hour  to  con  it  all.  Not  new  stuff ;  he  had  gone  over 
it  many  times  before.  Little,  so  little,  new ;  much,  so 
much,  old,  so  unsatisfactory;  so  little  fact,  so  much 
theory ;  so  little  absolute,  so  much  relative.  Grim,  mys- 
terious, deadly  disease.  It  was  not  of  the  mother  he 
was  thinking  in  the  midnight — except  to  think  of  her 
asleep  over  in  the  brick  house,  asleep  while  he  pon- 
dered. It  was  not  of  her  eyes,  strangely  awe  inspiring ; 
not  of  her  hand  in  her  lap ;  of  her  hair  vaguely  curling 
about  her  ears,  that  he  was  thinking,  but  of  the  spectre 
that  brooded  over  the  eyes  of  her  child — the  spectre  of 
glaucoma. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  half-past  seven  next  morning  Bryson  walked  in 
to  breakfast  as  fresh  as  sunshine.  Of  the  women 
of  their  table  Mrs.  Ledgcott  alone  was  down.  Unde- 
moralized  by  boarding-house  ease,  Mrs.  Ledgcott 
breakfasted  early  with  the  men.  After  a  late  outing  she 
was  particularly  betimes,  and  usually  a  soft-tinted  neg- 
ligee supported  her  delicate,  regular  face  as  a  vase 
offers  a  flower  that  is  rare.  From  such  a  setting  she 
toyed  with  her  coffee,  a  mute  and  lovely  reproach  for 
the  dissipations  of  the  night. 

On  this  occasion  Doctor  Bryson  didn't  rise  to  the 
small  talk.  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  always  amiable,  chatted 
with  John.  Once  only  Bryson  broke  from  his  fruit  and 
reflections;  that  was  to  ask  June  to  bring  Mrs.  Eliot 
right  after  breakfast  to  the  reception-room.  When  he 
went  up  to  wait  for  her  he  found  her  in  her  hat  and 
street  suit  already  there.  From  the  edge  of  the  chair 
on  which  she  sat  she  rose  with  the  promptness  that  is 
m  itself  a  compliment.  "  Miss  June  told  me  you  wished 
to  speak  with  me,  doctor." 

"  Good  morning.  How  do  you  do  ?  I  wanted  to  talk 
about  Ruth ;  and  I  wanted  June  to  be  here." 

"  She  came,  but  she  was  called  away.  Will  you  not 
let  me  see  if  I  can't  find  her  quickly  ?  :'  Mrs.  Eliot  hur- 
ried downstairs,  and  with  what  was  evidently  a  forced 
levy  brought  June  back. 

57 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  I  am  clear  in  my  mind  this  morning  as  to  what  1 
shall  recommend  in  Ruth's  case,"  began  Bryson,  ad- 
dressing Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Yes,  doctor." 

"  If  anything  is  to  be  done,  it  should  be  done  at  once, 
you  understand,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  doctor.    You  would  have  an  operation  ?  " 

"  I  should." 

"  Will  you  do  it  yourself,  doctor  ?  "  asked  June  with 
honeyed  pleading. 

"  I  have  said  I  would  if  Mrs.  Eliot  wishes  it." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  I  do  wish  it,  if  you  only  will." 

Her  readiness  seemed  to  arouse  some  apprehension 
on  his  part.  "  Stop  a  bit,"  he  interrupted,  raising  his 
eyes.  "  What  I  propose  differs  radically  from  what 
Kurd  and  the  men  you  tell  me  have  seen  her  propose." 

"  They  said  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do ;  an  iridec- 
tomy." 

"  Iridectomy  is  the  usual  operation  in  such  cases." 

"  What  do  you  propose,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Jonnesco's  operation." 

"  It  is  serious,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause.  "  The 
operation  does  not  touch  the  eye  itself.  It  consists  in 
removing  the  nerve  that  controls  the  secretions  of  the 
eye.  To  get  it  I  should  have  to  go  into  her  neck  below 
and  behind  the  ear  and  dissect  it  out — do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Her  lips  formed  the  words,  "  Yes,  doctor,"  but  she 
was  so  frightened  her  voice  could  not  utter  them.  Her 
eyes  devoured  his  thought  and  expression,  and  she  put 
her  hand  to  her  belt  for  her  handkerchief  and  wiped 
her  dry  lips. 

58 


Doctor   Bryson 


"It  is  an  exceedingly  delicate  point  to  operate  at — 
turn  around,  Miss  June,"  he  said,  continuing.  He 
lifted  June's  hair  away  with  one  hand  and  with  his 
thumb  indicated  an  incision  on  the  side  of  her  neck. 
"  Here  is  where  the  nerve  ganglion  I  should  remove 
lies.  It  is  sheathed  close  to  the  pneumogastric  nerve 
and  the  carotid  artery;  of  course,  it's  somewhat  deli- 
cate business  getting  in  just  there." 

"  Is  the  operation  performed  often,  doctor  ?  "  Mrs. 
Eliot  asked,  haltingly. 

"  No,  it  is  a  Continental  experiment.  It  has  been 
done  a  few  times  in  this  country ;  not  many.  In  Chica- 
go, once." 

"  But  you  have  confidence  in  it,  haven't  you,  doc- 
tor ?  "  interposed  June. 

"  Naturally." 

"'  You  say  it  has  been  done  here  once,  doctor  ?  "  fal- 
tered Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  performed  it  ?  "  asked  June. 

"  It  was  done  at  the  College." 

"  Successfully  ? " 

"  So  far  as  we  could  tell.  Improvement  was  evident ; 
unfortunately,  the  patient — he  was  a  stationary  engi- 
neer— lost  his  life  a  month  afterward  in  a  boiler  ex- 
plosion and  left  only  an  interrogation  point  on  the 
records." 

"  Now,  doctor,  if  you  could  get  the  man  who  did 
that  operation  to  help  you  in  this  one,"  suggested  June, 
craftily. 

"  I  should  be  compelled,"  returned  Bryson,  dryly, 
"  to  rely  on  him  to  some  extent." 

59 


Doctor   Bryson 


"Who  is  he?" 

"  One  of  our  staff  surgeons." 

Mrs.  Eliot  spoke.  "  If  it  is  your  belief  that  this  will 
save  her  sight — " 

His  eyes  fell  and  he  put  up  his  hand.  "  It  is  only  a 
hope.  There  are  many  chances  against  us,  Mrs.  Eliot." 

"  Then  I  prefer  to  commit  Ruth  entirely  into  your 
hands."  Something  of  agony  in  her  eyes  could  not  en- 
tirely be  hidden.  "  You  will  do  what  is  best,"  she 
faltered. 

"  What  to  me  seems  best,"  he  carefully  substituted. 
"  Just  so  you  understand  we  are  taking  a  hard  chance. 
Let  her  eat  lightly  to-day,  give  her  a  good  dinner  to- 
night, nothing  afterwards,  and  have  her  at  the  Col- 
lege," he  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  rose  to  go,  "  at 
seven  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  fasting." 

fie  had  hardly  gone  before  June  began  to  cry.  Mrs. 
Eliot  made  her  usual  preparations  to  go  down-town  to 
teach ;  operations,  she  knew,  cost  money.  But  for  June 
there  was  no  work.  She  "  cut  "  everything  that  day ; 
took  Ruth  over  on  the  avenue  and  filled  her  with 
enough  candy  and  soda-water  to  set  Bryson  crazy 
had  he  known.  "  But  how  is  he  to  know  ?  "  meditated 
June  slyly.  "  Poor  little  thing,"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self ;  "  she  doesn't  know  what's  ahead  of  her.  Have  an- 
other soda,  dear." 

If  Mrs.  Eliot  failed  that  day  to  give  value  received 
to  her  pupils  it  was  not  because  she  did  not  faithfully 
strive  to;  and  at  all  events  her  pupils  loved  her.  If 
they  did  not,  why  should  they  take  lessons  of  her  when 
the  town  was  full  of  music  teachers  that  gloried  in  the 
most  unpronounceable  sorts  of  names?  Coming  home 

60 


Doctor   Bryson 

that  night,  she  tried  conscientiously  to  give  Ruth  a  good 
dinner,  and  did  not  quite  understand  why  the  child's 
appetite  had  failed.  She  tucked  the  little  thing  in  bed, 
and  after  sitting  by  her  a  long,  long  time  she  slipped 
in  beside  her.  She  did  not  see  Doctor  Bryson  that 
night;  he  was  out  with  an  Annex  party  at  the  theatre 
and  when  they  came  in  it  was  late.  Mrs.  Eliot  knew  it 
must  be  some  of  the  Annex  people,  for  they  were  noisy 
and  jolly,  and  none  but  the  Annexers  dared  make  a 
noise  in  the  house  after  midnight.  Then  the  street 
grew  quiet.  There  was  only  the  rumble  of  an  occa- 
sional carriage,  and  darkness,  swimming  with  thought ; 
the  church  clock  chiming  two  o'clock;  three  o'clock; 
four  o'clock ;  then  in  a  doze  five  o'clock,  and  it  was  time 
to  get  up  and  make  ready. 

She  was  on  hand  at  the  receiving-room  with  June 
and  Ruth  promptly  at  seven.  Jim,  the  colored  boy, 
took  them  into  the  office.  The  operation  was  to  take 
place  in  a  private  room  off  it.  A  number  of  surgeons, 
some  of  them  sleepy-eyed,  were  washing  their  hands 
and  putting  on  their  gowns,  while  two  nurses  prepared 
the  instrument  stand. 

Presently  Bryson  walked  in,  slipped  off  his  driving 
gloves  as  he  bade  all  good  morning,  and  shook  hands 
with  Ruth.  A  young  surgeon,  passing,  he  stopped  to 
introduce  to  Mrs.  Eliot  and  June.  "  Doctor  Hoxie," 
said  Bryson,  informally,  "  my  very  particular  re- 
liance," at  which  the  two  women  who  could  not 
do  otherwise  smiled,  and  Doctor  Hoxie  protested. 
"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  June,  peering  after  Doctor  Hoxie 
as  he  walked  away. 

"  My   assistant   this    morning,"    explained    Bryson, 

61 


Doctor   Bryson 


briefly.  "  A  coming  man,  too.  If  you  ever  go  wrong, 
June,  send  for  Doctor  Hoxie.  Ruth  hasn't  had  any- 
thing to  eat,  has  she  ?  " 

"  No,  doctor,"  answered  Mrs.  Eliot. 

Leaving  them,  he  spoke  to  the  nurses  and  went  to 
the  wash-room.  Though  she  had  seen  an  operating- 
room  but  once  before,  everything  going  forward  had 
a  strangely  familiar  look  to  Mrs.  Eliot.  Her  per- 
ceptions, keyed  painfully  high,  were  awake  to  every- 
thing: the  methodical  dispatch  of  the  nurses,  the 
lightness  of  their  numberless  steps,  the  neatness  of  their 
caps  and  gowns,  the  deliberations  of  the  doctors,  the 
give-and-take  air  of  their  smiling  talk  as  they  mani- 
cured their  finger-nails,  dusted  specks  off  their  waist- 
coats and  shook  their  trousers  into  better  form  over 
their  shoes.  It  was  hard  to  realize  that  this  agony  to 
her  meant  something  of  a  treat  to  them — a  star  opera- 
tion by  a  star  man  to  which  the  favored  few  of  both 
staffs  were  glad  to  be  bidden — an  unusual  experiment 
in  which  the  chief  surgeon  of  the  eye  believed. 

Already  the  nurses  were  preparing  Ruth.  Mrs. 
Eliot,  like  one  who  could  not  give  up  her  own,  watched 
anxiously,  helped  with  failing  sight  to  bind  up  the 
child's  pretty  hair,  waited  while  they  scrupulously 
cleansed  her  neck,  and,  like  one  who  mourns,  clasped 
her  hands  in  silence  as  they  laid  her  on  the  operating 
table.  The  nurses  waited  a  moment  while  Ruth's  arms, 
as  her  mother  bent  hungrily,  stole  around  her  neck  and 
the  two,  in  a  look  and  a  whisper,  kissed.  A  strange 
assistant,  with  a  smile,  brought  the  Esmarch  mask  over 
Ruth's  face,  and  as  the  mother  stepped  trembling  back 
the  sweetness  of  the  chloroform,  dripping,  began  to 

62 


Doctor   Bryson 


steal  the  child's  senses.  Doctor  Bryson  did  not  notice 
any  of  this.  He  was  washing  his  hands ;  they  could  see 
him  where  they  sat.  He  washed  at  his  hands  till  June 
went  nearly  mad.  When  at  last  he  finished,  the  head 
nurse  helped  him  into  his  gown.  He  sat  down,  and  she 
began  rapidly  to  bind  his  head  in  aseptic  gauze.  She 
wound  it  about  his  head,  around  his  ears,  over  his  fore- 
head, went  quite  around  his  head  again  with  the  roll 
and  brought  a  wide  band  across  his  mouth.  Doctor 
Hoxie  handed  him  a  pair  of  thin  rubber  gloves  with 
gauntlets,  and  he  drew  them  deliberately  over  his  hands. 

Mrs.  Eliot  and  June,  where  they  sat  in  the  office, 
could  see  the  surgeon  that  was  giving  the  chloroform 
lift  the  mask  from  Ruth's  nose  and  retract  an  eyelid 
with  his  thumb.  They  saw  him  lift  the  child's  hand 
from  its  side  and  let  it  drop,  study  its  pulse,  observe 
its  respiration  a  moment  and  nod  toward  Doctor  Bry- 
son, who  was  coming  forward.  Mrs.  Eliot,  watching 
narrowly,  saw  Bryson  bend  over  the  operating  table 
and  look  intently  at  Ruth,  while  the  surgeon  giving  the 
anaesthetic  told  him  of  her  pulse.  He  made  no  com- 
ment, but  silent  and  intent  motioned  the  nurse  to  turn 
Ruth's  head,  looked  a  moment  at  her  neck,  felt  of  it 
thoughtfully  and  paused.  Mrs.  Eliot,  straining,  caught 
even  his  first  words — "  A  knife,  please." 

The  white-gowned  figures  and  the  big  plate  window 
wavered  and  swayed  in  her  eyes.  She  bit  her  lip.  She 
could  not  see  the  delicate  neck  bared  and  stretched  now 
under  the  gloved  fingers,  and  after  one  instant  of  de- 
liberation the  bright  blade  dividing  the  pink  flesh,  the 
blood  welling  behind  the  steel  and  the  thirsty  sponge 
following  through  the  incision  like  an  eraser.  '"  Tissue 

63 


Doctor   Bryson 


forceps,  please,"  she  heard  in  the  low,  even  tones. 
"  Tissue  forceps,"  again,  and  after  a  time,  "  The  re- 
tractors; not  those — the  small  ones." 

She  could  not  look.  Deadly  fear  cramped  her  senses 
and  there  came  a  time  of  craning  of  heads  close  over 
her  child,  the  vision  of  nurses  rapidly  passing  instru- 
ments; passing  sponges — sometimes  dry,  sometimes 
hurriedly  wrung  in  water — and  sometimes  she  was  con- 
scious of  imperatively  quick  words  in  the  same  steady 
voice,  "  Hotter,  hotter,  nurse ;  hotter.  Now,  gentle- 
men," she  heard,  after  a  maddening  silence,  "  tell  me 
what  nerve  we  have  here.  Don't  all  speak  at  once." 
The  tone  was  so  easy  that  life  seemed  to  come  with  it 
back  to  her  heart.  She  looked.  Doctor  Bryson  stood 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  and  between  the  as- 
sistants she  caught  sight  of  his  eyes  and  nose  framed 
in  the  queer  bandages,  and  a  new  sensation  swept  over 
her:  an  impulse  to  go  to  him  and  beg  for  mercy  on 
Ruth.  "  She  is  my  child,"  she  would  have  said,  "  have 
mercy  on  her  if  you  love  me."  The  insane  thought 
startled  her  as  it  flashed  through  her  mind,  and  she 
wondered  how  it  could  have  come.  But  there  was 
some  fascination  about  his  eyes,  and  she  felt  that  if  she 
asked  of  him  mercy  he  would  not  refuse  it.  Fear  gave 
way ;  it  was  only  the  waiting  now  that  oppressed  her ; 
she  knew  Ruth  would  not  die. 

Shaking  off  the  trance,  Mrs.  Eliot  looked  around  for 
June;  June  had  left  her;  she  was  alone.  The  dissec- 
tion went  torturously  slow.  The  surgeon  was  work- 
ing now  as  one  treads  tiptoe  at  a  sleeper's  ear.  It  was 
not  now  the  blade  of  his  knife  that  parted  the  welling 
tissue;  oftener  the  knife  handle  or  his  gloved  finger 

64 


Doctor   Bryson 


itself  opened  a  step  along  the  blind  path  that  hid  the 
ganglion  of  the  cervical  sympathetic.  He  was  working 
where  the  functions  of  human  organism  begin ;  where 
a  prick  meant  instant  death  to  the  child  under  his 
blade.  In  another  moment  the  mysterious  wandering 
nerve,  giant  of  its  kind,  the  pneumogastric  nerve, 
source  of  every  vital  function  in  this  perfect  living 
structure  whose  existence  was  in  his  hand,  hung  limp 
upon  his  tiny  hook,  and  the  great  carotid  artery,  stream- 
ing up  the  unconscious  neck,  throbbed  slowly  under  his 
thoughtful  finger.  He  delved  at  the  seat  of  life  itself. 

About  the  table  there  was  absolute  silence.  Strain- 
ing eyes,  motionless  watching.  Advancement,  diffi- 
culty, deliberation  on  the  operator's  part — and  then,  of 
a  sudden,  from  the  little  patient,  violent  and  unex- 
pected retching  that  made  the  watchers  look  grave. 
June's  kindness  of  the  day  before  was  bearing  fruit. 
Bryson,  unwilling,  stood  forced  to  suspend  his  work  at 
its  critical  stage.  He  showed  his  first  uneasiness  stand- 
ing back  while  they  tried  to  quiet  his  patient.  The 
pulse  fluttered ;  hemorrhages  welling  anew  defied  con- 
trol. Sponges,  scalding  hot,  were  thrown  into  the  gap 
like  tiny  sandbags  into  a  crevasse;  artery  forceps 
clicked  till  they  hung  thick  as  silver  leeches  along  the 
lips  of  the  wound ;  it  was  the  anxious  moment.  Grad- 
ually the  troublesome  stomach  was  brought  under  con- 
trol, dissection  went  cautiously  forward;  the  thread- 
like nerve  Doctor  Bryson  sought  lay  at  last  uncovered. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  said  to  those  about  him,  and  with 
it  lying  on  his  hook  he  told  them  why  he  knew  it. 
Seizing  the  superior  ganglion,  the  one  he  wanted,  on 

65 


Doctor   Bryson 


his  forceps,  he  divided  the  nerve  at  its  exit  from  the 
skull  and  drew  the  ganglion  out. 

When  Mrs.  Eliot  could  again  think  connectedly  a 
smiling  nurse  was  fanning  her.  Ruth,  bandaged,  lay 
with  closed  eyes  on  the  office  couch;  Doctor  Bryson 
was  washing  his  hands.  Mrs.  Eliot,  turning  to  Ruth, 
heard  a  surgeon  congratulating  him. 

"  I  thought  your  first  Jonnesco  operation  was  good, 
doctor,"  he  was  saying ;  "  I  swear,  I  believe  this  one 
was  prettier." 


66 


CHAPTER  VII 

*  '  T  T  OW  is  that  little  girl  you  operated  on  last 
JL  1      week,  doctor  ?  "  asked  Miss  Montague  at 
dinner  one  night.    "  Ruth  Eliot,  is  that  her  name?  " 

"  Ruth  Eliot,"  supplied  Mrs.  Goddard  from  her 
salad.  It  was  deemed  at  the  Annex  table  a  bit  of 
etiquette  to  be  up  on  Bryson's  star  cases. 

"  She's  largely  out  of  my  keeping,"  answered  Doctor 
Bryson. 

"Oh,  how  so?" 

"  Ruth's  in  the  hands  of  my  silent  partner." 

"  Who's  your  silent  partner  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ledgcott, 
somewhat  impatiently.  "  I  didn't  know  you  had  a 
silent  partner." 

"  He's  riddling,"  observed  Mrs.  Goddard,  sagely. 

"  I  have  a  silent  partner ;  and  that  considerably  the 
more  important  member  of  the  firm." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Nature.  I'm  glad  to  say  Ruth's  doing  well  in  Na- 
ture's hands.  I  took  her  vision  yesterday.  She  al- 
ready reads  within  two  lines  of  normal.  Ruth  deserves 
it ;  she's  a  model  patient.  Good  patients  should  all  have 
harps;  and  if  they  keep  them  for  good  patients  there 
will  be  plenty  to  go  around,  too." 

"  I'm  enthusiastic  over  her  mother,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Goddard.  "  I  think  she  deserves  a  harp  for  the  care 
she  takes  of  that  child.  Mrs.  Eliot  is  charming." 

67 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  Wrapped  up  in  her  little  girl,"  commented  Miss 
Montague.  "  She  is  a  fairylike  thing." 

"  Talk  about  miniatures,"  exclaimed  Bryson. 
"  There's  a  subject  for  you,  Miss  Montague." 

"  The  world  is  full  of  subjects — if  one  only  could  use 
them  all ! " 

"If  only  they  all  had  the  money,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Ledgcott. 

"  If  I  could  afford  it  1  would  paint  a  child  like  that 
for  nothing !  "  returned  Miss  Montague,  bridling ;  "  I 
think  I've  done  my  share  of  that  kind  of  thing.  If  I 
didn't  have  bills  to  pay  I  would  never  paint  anything 
but  children  in  the  world." 

"  You  must  like  children,"  purred  Mrs.  Ledgcott, 
softly. 

"  I  love  them,"  exclaimed  Mary  Montague,  coldly 
reckless,  looking  straight  at  her  tormentor. 

"  Good  for  you,"  interposed  Bryson,  bluntly.  "  So 
do  I." 

"  Just  as  if  a  man  could  really  love  a  child  as  a  wom- 
an does,"  sighed  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  reproachfully,  and 
she  looked  at  Johnnie,  for  she  was  what  stage  car- 
penters would  call  a  quick  shift.  "  Oh,  doctor,  doctor ! 
Are  you  going  to  play  cards  to-night  ? "  she  asked, 
brightening  with  an  effort. 

"Where?" 

"  My  rooms,"  announced  Mrs.  Goddard ;  "  every- 
body at  eight  sharp — and  I've  asked  Mrs.  Eliot  up." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Eliot  play  poker?  "  asked  John  Allison. 

"If  she  doesn't  we'll  teach  her,"  promised  Mrs.  God- 
dard. 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves,"  declared 
68 


Doctor   Bryson 


Bryson.     "  You  women  will  corrupt  everybody  in  the 
house." 

"  We  never  corrupted  you,  doctor." 

When  Bryson  called  later  to  see  Ruth,  June  was 
with  her  mother. 

"  Go  ?  Of  course  you'll  go,"  insisted  June  when 
Bryson  arrived.  "  She's  asked  up  to  Mrs.  Goddard's 
rooms  this  evening  and  she  doesn't  want  to  go.  Doc- 
tor, you  make  her  go.  She's  hung  around  this  room 
with  Ruth  till  you  can  see  the  bones  in  her  fingers  with- 
out any  rays.  She  never  goes  anywhere  but  down  to 
her  music  room  and  from  dinner  up  here  to  bed.  She's 
never  visited  anybody  in  the  whole  house.  You'll  be 
sick — that's  what  you'll  be,"  stormed  June  as  the  doc- 
tor laughed  and  went  into  the  bedroom  to  talk  to  Ruth. 

"  You  will  have  to  break  away  from  your  room  occa- 
sionally," put  in  Bryson,  returning  after  a  while.  "  You 
make  a  capital  nurse,  Mrs.  Eliot,  but  you'll  be  down 
yourself  if  you  don't  get  a  change  once  in  a  while." 

June,  reenforced,  bore  down  harder.  Ruth  added  a 
pretty  word.  "  I  don't  need  you,  mamma,  to  put  me 
to  sleep.  I'll  think  about  that  poor  little  girl  Doctor 
Bryson  told  me  about  that  walked  sideways  all  the 
time,  and  after  he  put  glasses  on  her  she  walked  just 
as  straight  as  anything." 

Mrs.  Eliot  gave  way.  It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock 
when  she  knocked  lightly  at  Mrs.  Goddard's  door.  The 
card  party  was  in  blast.  Bowles,  Bryson,  Mrs.  Ledg- 
cott  and  Mrs.  Goddard  before  the  fire  in  the  grate  were 
playing  poker,  and  Miss  Montague,  whose  apartments 
adjoined,  sat  near  John  Allison.  John  was  poring  over 
some  miniatures  she  had  brought  in. 

69 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Late,  but  you  are  forgiven  if  you've  brought  an 
excuse,''  said  Mrs.  Goddard,  cordially,  to  the  new  ar- 
rival. 

Mrs.  Eliot  stood  disconcerted  on  the  threshold.  The 
rooms  were  highly  lighted,  the  faces  at  the  table 
flushed,  and  there  was  sally  and  retort  and  the  laugh- 
ing that  makes  an  outsider  ill  at  ease.  The  men  rose 
instantly.  "  Come  right  in  and  right  over  here — you 
know  almost  everybody — oh,  yes;  Miss  Montague, 
shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Eliot,  as  Mr.  Bowles  says,  and 
Mr.  Bowles,  if  you  will  behave,  you  may  shake  hands 
with  Mrs.  Eliot  yourself.  And  the  others  I  am  sure 
you  know;  and  the  game  is  poker  and  the  limit  a 
quarter,  except  for  a  jack-pot,  when  Mr.  Bowles  and 
Mrs.  Ledgcott  stay.  Then  the  roof  goes." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  stupid,  but  I  don't  understand 
poker,  Mrs.  Goddard.  Let  me  join  Miss  Montague." 

"  Oh,  no ;  we're  going  to  teach  you  poker.  It  won't 
take  but  a  minute — " 

Allison  groaned.  "  Poor  Robinson  Crusoe,"  he 
sighed,  looking  sympathetically  at  the  victim. 

"  Let  her  come  over  here  with  me,"  cried  Mary  Mon- 
tague, impulsively ;  but  Mrs.  Goddard  had  said.  "  Doc- 
tor Bryson  is  banker,"  she  explained.  "  Sit  here,  Mrs. 
Eliot.  Oh,  ife*s  easy  as  pie- — give  her  some  chips,  doc- 
tor. Never  buy  over  twenty-five  cents'  worth  at  a 
time,  Mrs.  Eliot,  then  you  know  where  you  are." 

"  Or  where  you  ought  to  be,"  hinted  Bowles,  darkly. 

The  beginnings  of  anything  are  tiresome,  but  poker 
is  peculiarly  a  game  for  gamesters.  Mrs.  Eliot  strug- 
gled. The  men  helped  because  they  liked  the  subject, 
and  Mrs.  Goddard  helped  because  she  was  a  philanthro- 

70 


Doctor   Bryson 


pist.  Mrs.  Ledgcott  primarily  wanted  poker  and  not 
a  primary  class.  Having  already  scented  a  strange 
kitten  under  her  stove,  she  smiled  prettily,  and  with  her 
patient  little  smile  she  gradually  broke  up  the  game. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  have  somebody  coming  in  to  en- 
tertain her  gentlemen  friends,  without  teaching  the 
stranger  how  to  do  it.  Yet  in  spite  of  some  calculations 
on  Mrs.  Ledgcott's  part,  quitting  the  table  proved  a 
mistake.  She  saw  this  the  minute  music  was  called 
for  and  John  Allison  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  sang 
a  funny  German  song  that  made  everybody  hungry  for 
more.  Mrs.  Goddard  followed  with  a  second  song; 
then  Bryson  asked  Mrs.  Eliot  to  play  "  The  Flatterer." 

Perhaps  it  was  not  very  easy  in  a  black  dress  to  sit 
comfortably  at  the  piano  with  the  three  alert  men  and 
three  handsomely  gowned  young  women,  one  of  them 
covertly  unfriendly,  listening.  At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Eliot, 
ignoring  the  doctor's  choice  of  a  piece,  attempted  a 
ballade  and  it  came  off  badly.  Resisting  all  efforts  at 
an  encore,  she  left  the  piano  embarrassed  and  took 
refuge  on  the  couch  near  Mrs.  Ledgcott. 

"  Do  play  something  more,"  sighed  the  baby  lady, 
earnestly ;  she  was  willing  now  that  Mrs.  Eliot  should 
play  everything  she  knew. 

"  Oh,  no." 

Mrs.  Ledgcott  feathered  a  tiny  dart.  "  Doctor  Bry- 
son has  spoken  so  highly  of  your  touch,"  said  she,  look- 
ing with  sweetness  at  the  doctor,  who  crossed  his  legs 
discomposedly  under  the  shaft.  It  was  the  taunt  of  a 
pretty  face — a  round,  well-dressed,  sweet-odored  face 
— from  a  woman  and  to  a  woman  who  hate  each  other 
by  the  operation  of  a  law  very  nearly  divine.  The  pink 

71 


Doctor   Bryson 


of  resentment  rose  above  the  plain  high  collar  of  Mrs. 
Eliot's  dress  and  crept  almost  to  her  ears.  Mrs.  Ledg- 
cott  had  made  a  tactical  mistake. 

"  Oh,  don't  stop,  Mrs.  Eliot,"  urged  Bryson,  help- 
lessly, "  do  play  '  The  Flatterer.'  '"  Anger  supplied  the 
needed  steadiness  and  animation.  She  retraced  her 
steps  to  the  bench,  a  queen  in  her  black  gown,  and 
seated  herself  with  a  totally  different  air — seated  her- 
self to  conquer  and  to  charm.  The  piano  itself  was  an 
inspiration — a  "  condensed  grand,"  with  a  lingering 
tone — and  the  music  teacher  bent  over  the  keys  and  in 
a  crescendo  of  chords  coaxed  them  to  help  her.  Up 
she  woke  them,  octave  after  octave,  till  the  ivory 
danced,  and  with  every  key  bobbing  she  broke  more 
deftly  yet — back  among  the  black-hooded  fellows,  soft- 
est and  sweetest — into  Chaminade's  bewildering  mel- 
ody. She  held  the  phrases  every  one  at  her  own 
capricious  will,  whirling  one  upon  another  with  entire 
abandon,  until,  when  her  hands  dropped  from  the  key- 
board, the  silence  for  an  instant  was  breathless. 

"  Mrs.  Eliot,  you  are  an  artist,"  exclaimed  John  Al- 
lison first.  "  Isn't  she,  Bowles  ?  " 

"  If  you'll  star,  Mrs.  Eliot,  I'll  write  your  paper  my- 
self," declared  Bowles  with  superb  conviction.  "  I 
never  heard  Chaminade  before." 

Bryson  pointed  an  accusing  finger  at  him.  "  When 
I  came  home  from  your  concert,  Bowles,  and  said  Mrs. 
Eliot  played  that  thing  better  than  your  Pole — remem- 
ber?" 

"  I  didn't  know  we  had  a  pianist  right  here  in  the 
house,"  admitted  Bowles.  Mrs.  Eliot  walked  more 

72 


Doctor   Bryson 


easily  over  to  the  couch,  and  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  cowed, 
scratched  no  more. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Eliot  called  at  the  College  and 
asked  for  Doctor  Bryson.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  been  down  since  the  operation.  There  was  no  de- 
lay now  in  seeing  whom  she  wanted,  no  more  anxious 
waiting  about  the  receiving-room.  A  word  from  Bry- 
son had  changed  all  that.  She  felt  like  one  with  money 
in  purse,  sure  of  attention  and  greeting.  He  entered 
his  office  after  she  had  been  seated  in  it  by  Jim.  He 
extended  his  hand  and  she  gave  hers ;  it  alone  was  an 
intoxication. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you.  How  are  you  this  morning 
and  how  is  Ruth  ?  "  he  asked,  heartily. 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  always  well ;  and  Ruth  is  doing 
so  well.  I  can  hardly  tell  you  what  a  load  it  is  off  my 
heart." 

"  It  is  early  yet,  of  course,  to  rejoice ;  but  certainly 
we  couldn't  have  asked  for  better  results  so  far." 

"  I  have  come  to  pay  you  some  money,  doctor,  on  ac- 
count," said  Mrs.  Eliot,  putting  some  bills  toward  him 
on  the  table,  "  and  I  will  have  some  more  immediately 
after  the  first  of  the  month,"  she  added,  hurriedly,  ris- 
ing to  go. 

Bryson  looked  doubtfully  at  the  money.  "  Just  a 
minute,  Mrs.  Eliot.  How  much  have  you  here  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  dollars,  doctor." 

"  But  you  don't  owe  me  that  much — " 

"  The  operation — " 

"  The  operation  is  fifty  dollars." 

"How  much?" 

"  Fifty  dollars." 

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Doctor   Bryson 


"Oh,  Doctor  Bryson.  How  could  it  be  only  fifty 
dollars?" 

"  Because  that  is  what  I  booked  it  at." 

"  Miss  June  told  me  something  of  what  you  are  paid 
for  such  work.  Twenty-five  hundred  dollars  once." 

"  Miss  June  is  excitable,  you  know.  She  frequently 
gets  things  mixed,"  he  added,  calmly  counting  out  fifty 
dollars  and  pushing  the  rest  of  the  money  back  to  her. 
"  This  balances  our  account,  and  I  am  obliged  to  you 
for  your  confidence  and  good  will.  Now,  really,  I 
don't  want  to  cause  you  embarrassment,"  he  added, 
mildly.  Her  face  looked  shamed  and  her  eyes  turned 
like  hares  to  escape  his.  "  You  must  admit  I  am  the 
one  to  name  my  fee.  Provided  it  is  reasonable,  there 
should  be  no  occasion  for  sensitiveness,  Mrs.  Eliot." 

"  I  am  sorry — to — show  any,"  she  stammered,  "  but 
I  fear,  doctor,  you  are  making  a  nominal  charge  for  a 
very  great  and  skillful  service.  It  is  something  I  have 
no  right  to  ask." 

"  You  haven't  asked  it." 

"  I  must  somehow  have  asked  it,  or  why  should  you 
give  your  services  to  me  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  Frankly,  I  felt  great  interest  in  my  little  patient, 
Mrs.  Eliot." 

"  But  you  are  entitled  to  something  like  your  usual 
compensation.  You  must  let  me  pay  you  what  I  can — 
what  is  right." 

"  I  have  said  what  I  honestly  believe  to  be  right. 
Here  it  is.  I  am  satisfied.  I  have  charged  more  for 
similar  operations — I  have  done  them  for  less." 

"  I  know  I  should  pay  much  more  than  fifty  dollars, 
doctor."  He  disagreed  with  a  smile.  "  Do  take  this 

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Doctor   Bryson 


money  and  I  will  be  most  grateful."     He  shook  his 
head. 

"  You  will  embarrass  me,  Mrs.  Eliot,  if  you  insist. 
You  will  make  me  remember  the  time  when  a  hundred 
dollars  looked  as  big  to  me  as  a  hundred  thousand — 
when  I  should  have  fallen  on  a  man's  neck  and  wept 
if  he  had  ever  offered  me  so  much  money  at  once." 

"  Won't  you  take  at  least  what  I  have  brought,  doc- 
tor?" 

He  laughed.  "  I  wouldn't  take  this  much  if  you 
weren't  so  set  on  it.  Let  me  give  you  a  receipt — " 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  at  all  necessary." 

"  Oh,  yes  it  is,  if  you  please.  If  you  have  your  way 
and  make  me  take  the  money  I  shall  have  mine  and 
make  you  take  a  receipt." 

"  But  I  haven't  had  my  way,"  she  protested,  through 
a  rainbow  of  mist.  "  It  is  you  who  have  had  your  way, 
is  it  not?  I  think  I  should  have  mine  about  the  re- 
ceipt." 

"  All  right,  you  shall.    Let  it  go." 

"  It  would  make  me  uncomfortable  to  take  a  receipt. 
Without  one  I  can  still  feel,  whether  you  admit  it  or 
not,  that  I  owe  you  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  Are  you  in  a  hurry?  " 

"  Not  especially." 

He  hesitated.  "  Will  you  let  me  ask  your  judgment 
about  a  present  I  am  trying  to  make  ?  " 

*'  A  present  ?  " 

"  A  wedding  present  to  a  friend  of  my  youthful 
days,"  he  said,  playfully.  "  I've  been  putting  it  off  un- 
til the  last  day  has  come,  and  I'm  in  a  cold  perspiration 
over  it." 

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Doctor   Bryson 


"  Oh,  a  wedding  present  ought  not  to  be  so  difficult." 
"  By  Jove,  I  find  it  so.    What  could  you  suggest  ?  " 
"  Something  in  silver  or  books — or  how  would  an 
engraving  do?    Much  depends  on  the  taste  of  the  one 
you  give  to.    You  could  choose  a  dozen  nice  things  in 
an  hour.    Nice  china,  or  even  table  linen  is  always  ac- 
ceptable.   Is  it  a  relative?    I  presume  you  give  to  the 
bride." 

"  Exactly.  If  it  were  to  the  groom  I  could  manage 
it.  No,  she's  not  a  relation,  but  she  might  as  well  be. 
I  think  a  great  deal  of  her  father  and  of  her,  too.  Her 
mother  and  my  mother  died  at  almost  the  same  time 
when  we  were  children  up  in  a  little  Wisconsin  town. 
Her  father  was  the  big  man  of  the  town  in  those  days 
and  she  was  the  belle.  My  mother  was  poor  and  I 
used  to  have  to  go  barefoot  most  of  the  time,"  said 
Bryson,  candidly  reminiscent.  "  One  day  there  were  a 
lot  of  boys  and  girls  playing  pull-away  over  in  her  big 
yard,  and  I  was  hanging  along  outside  the  fence  just 
hungry  to  be  asked  in  to  play,  and,  by  George,  she 
asked  me  in.  I  suppose  I  looked  pretty  shabby;  any- 
way, one  of  the  boys  refused  to  stay  if  I  played,  and 
said  something  about  my  clothes.  I  was  so  crushed  I 
couldn't  even  fight — then — though  among  boys  I  took 
care  of  such  matters  tolerably  well.  But  to  get  hit  in 
that  way  among  girls  was  too  much  for  me.  I  stood 
there  like  a  ninny,  ready  to  cry,  but  she  turned  on 
the  brute  like  a  little  hurricane  and  came  over  and 
stood  by  me,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  ordered  the 
other  fellow  out  of  the  yard.  Wasn't  that  brave? 
That's  the  kind  of  girl  she  was.  I  couldn't  forget 
that."  He  talked  so  rapidly  and  with  so  quiet  a  frank- 

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Doctor   Bryson 


ness  that  he  engaged  interest  and  sympathy.  "  Now 
I'm  trying  to  select  a  wedding  present,"  he  concluded, 
'"  for  that  girl ;  and  it's  got  to  be  done  to-day." 

"  I  see." 

"  There's  nothing  too  good  for  girls  like  her,  and 
you'd  hardly  believe  it — with  all  the  money  her  father 
had  he  has  lost  every  cent." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  can  believe  it." 

"  Every  cent — in  '93 — and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a 
bright  young  lawyer  up  there  that  took  hold  when  all 
the  men  her  father  had  made  rich  had  deserted  htm, 
by  Jove,  they'd  have  sold  the  roof  over  his  head.  That's 
the  man  she's  going  to  marry — the  lawyer — and  he's 
a  fine  fellow." 

"  I  think  that  is  lovely." 

"  But  the  change  in  their  circumstances  seems,  some- 
how, to  have  broken  a  good  deal  of  her  spirit.  She  was 
a  quick,  courageous  girl  when  I  knew  her — full  of  im- 
pulse and  confidence.  Her  husband  has  a  good  country 
legal  practice,  but  that  isn't  a  fortune,  you  know,  and 
he  supports  his  parents,  too.  So  I  want  to  give  her 
something  worth  while,  that's  the  fact  of  it.  Do  you 
know  anything  about  diamonds  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  a  thing,"  he  declared,  opening 
a  drawer,  "  except  that  when  I  wanted  a  diamond  I 
never  had  money  enough  to  buy  one,  and  now  for  my- 
self I've  lost  my  wild  desire  about  them.  But  I  thought 
earrings  would  be  nice  for  her.  What  do  you  think 
of  those?  "  He  handed  her  a  jewel  case  containing  a 
pair  of  solitaire  stones.  She  took  them,  not  able  entire- 
ly to  suppress  a  little  exclamation.  "  I  got  them  at 

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Doctor  Bryson 


Mattson's,"  he  went  on,  watching  her  expression. 
"  They  said  they  weren't  wearing  diamonds  as  much 
as  they  used  to,  but  they  said  these  were  right  of  their 
kind." 

"  Right !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Eliot,  catching  her  breath. 
"  Indeed,  I  should  think  they  were — quite  right.  They 
are  superb,"  she  continued,  slowly ;  "  lustre,  color, 
size." 

"  I  don't  care  much  about  whether  they're  in  fashion. 
I  want  to  give  her  something  permanent.  What  do  you 
think  of  them  for  the  purpose  ?  " 

"  They  would  be  a  splendid  gift  for  anyone." 

"  I  mean  do  you  think  I  could  improve  on  them  in 
some  other  way  as  a  gift  ?  I  don't  know  a  thing  about 
wedding  presents." 

Mrs.  Eliot  sat  with  her  gloved  finger  crooked  upon 
her  lip.  He  was  so  simple  in  his  questions  that  her 
manner  was  of  amused  interest. 

"  Are  they — the  most  practical  thing  you  could  send 
her  under  the  circumstances  ?  "  she  suggested,  reflect- 
ively. 

"  I  don't  know.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  ask  you. 
What  do  you  think?" 

"  Under  the  circumstances  you  have  mentioned — 
while  these  are  queenly — perhaps  you  could  give  your 
friend  something  more  useful  to  her,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  the  most  useful  thing  in  the  world, 
but  they  are  staple.  They  tell  me  that  diamonds  are 
just  as  convertible  as  government  bonds." 

"  But,  doctor,  she  wouldn't  sell  diamonds  that  you 
gave  her." 

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Doctor   Bryson 


"  Why — no,  I  suppose  not — unless,  of  course,  she 
needed  the  money  very  much — " 

"  Oh,  never  in  the  world.  There  are  some  things  in 
life  even  necessity  can't  compel.  She  would  not  sell 
those — ever." 

"  After  all,  there  may  not  be  much  of  a  point  in  the 
convertibility,  though  it  sounded  plausible  when  they 
talked  of  it.  Well,  if  I  don't  give  her  these,  I've 
got  to  find  something  else  to-day,"  he  added,  with 
alarm ;  "  what  is  it  going  to  be  ?  " 

"  Why,  send  the  earrings,  doctor.  Don't  let  me  un- 
settle your  mind.  I  ought  not  even  to  have  made  a 
suggestion  after  all  your  trouble  in  picking  them  out." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  ought ;  I  wanted  a  woman's  judgment 
or  I  shouldn't  have  asked.  But  now  I've  got  to  find 
something  else,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  what  it 
shall  be."  He  looked  perplexedly  at  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  What  are  her  tastes  ?  "  she  inquired,  doubtfully. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  know — but  I  don't.  She  has 
changed  so.  I  wrote  her  the  other  day  to  ask  her  what 
I  should  send — " 

"You  did?" 

"Yes.    Wasn't  that  right?" 

"Of  course  it  was  right ;  but  odd.  What  did  she 
say?" 

"  Here  is  her  letter,"  he  replied,  taking  an  envelope 
from  his  pocket.  "What  can  you  make  out  of  it. 
She  seems  all  broken  up  about  the  trouble  they've  had." 
Mrs.  Eliot  opened  the  letter. 

"  My  dear  Harry,"  she  read,  "  I  did  not  mean  to 
write  you  of  my  marriage  at  all.  But  since  father  has 
told  you  and  you  have  written  me  so  good  and  so  kind  a 

79 


Doctor   Bryson 


letter,  what  can  I  do  but  thank  you  again  and  again  for 
your  wishes  for  my  happiness. 

"  It  is  like  you,  who  remember  so  well,  to  speak  as 
you  do  of  father's  little  kindnesses  to  you  at  school. 
How  long  ago  it  seems,  yet  you  are  only  twenty-eight 
and  I  only  twenty-six.  It  seems  as  if  I  cannot  grow 
old.  Sometimes  I  pray  that  I  might  in  the  night  go 
to  sleep  young  and  wake  old  with  the  hard  things  all 
done,  or  that  I  might  sleep  on  till  that  other  morning. 
But  out  of  all  the  wreck,  all  that  you  know — and  more 
than  you  know — one  thing  remains — duty.  And  my 
duty  it  is  that  I  try  now  to  do  and  that  I  pray  for 
strength  to  do  when  I  pray  nightly  for  you  and  for 
your  happiness.  Surely  you,  if  anyone,  deserve  happi- 
ness. 

"  You  ask  what  you  can  send  me  that  I  would  best 
like  on  my  wedding  day.  Send  me  just  word  that  you 
are  happy  and  it  will  help  me  to  be.  You  will  like  my 
husband  when  you  meet  him,  as  you  must  sometime. 
He  is  honest  and  strong  and  true,  and  because  he  has 
asked  it  now  so  long,  knowing  as  he  knows  all  my 
heart,  and  because  father,  who  is  very  feeble,  asks  it, 
I  am  going  to  try  to  make  him  happy — God  helping 
me.  Good-by !  JESSIE  M.  B.  LAWSON." 

"  Oh,  Doctor  Bryson !  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  This  is  a  sad  letter.    I  shouldn't  have  seen  this — " 

"Pray,  why  not?" 

"  It  is  a  strange  letter." 

"  I  know  it — what  am  I  to  do?  There  isn't  much  to 
guide  me,  is  there  ?  You  can  see  how  depressed  she  is 
about  their  trouble  and  how  mixed  up  I  am.  But  I 

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Doctor   Bryson 


am  beginning  to  see  these  are  not  the  thing,"  he  said, 
reluctantly,  contemplating  the  diamonds. 

"  She  isn't  musical,  is  she  ?  I  always  think  of  that 
first,"  suggested  Mrs.  Eliot,  apologetically. 

"  She  is,  intensely ;  of  course  she  is — " 

"  Has  she  a  piano  ?  " 

"  By  Jove,  they  sold  their  piano — " 

"  If  you  are  going  to  send  as  large  a  sum  as  these 
mean — why  not  a  piano?"  she  asked,  doubtfully. 

He  struck  the  table  lightly.  "  I  never  thought  of.it. 
How  stupid.  A  piano  is  the  very  thing.  I'll  send 
her  a  piano.  It's  what  she  would  like  above  all  things," 
he  declared,  putting  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  Will  they  take  back  the  earrings  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  so,"  he  said,  throwing  them  into  a 
drawer  and  locking  it.  "  I  can  manage  that  afterward. 
The  manager  up  there  is  a  patient  of  mine,  and  if  he 
doesn't  do  what's  right  I'll  make  him  suffer.  A  piano. 
Now  what  kind?  An  upright  or  one  of  those  three- 
cornered  affairs  like  Mrs.  Goddard's  would  be  about 
right,  wouldn't  it?  I  don't  know  anything  about  a 
piano  either.  Would  you  help  me  select  one,  Mrs. 
Eliot  ?  But  you  wouldn't  have  time,  would  you  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  his  impulsiveness — im- 
pulsiveness of  a  kind  that  whirled  things,  with  a  good- 
humored  begging,  to  a  conclusion.  "  I  think  I  have 
time,"  she  assented,  "  if  you  would  dare  take  my  judg- 
ment." 

"  Dare?  "  he  echoed,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  Glad  to 
get  it.  Can  you  go  now?  Good.  Yes,  Jessie  loves 
music — but  she  can't  play  like  you,"  he  added,  bluntly, 
throwing  things  into  drawers  and  touching  a  button 

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Doctor   Bryson 


as  he  made  ready  to  leave.  Jim  opened  the  door. 
"  Cab,  Jim." 

"  Oh,  don't  take  a  cab ;  we  can  walk,  doctor,"  said 
Mrs.  Eliot. 

He  considered  quickly.  "  No  ?  Shall  we  ?  As  you 
say.  No  matter,  Jim,"  said  he,  slipping  into  the  top 
coat  Jim  held  for  him.  "  If  you  are  ready,"  he  added, 
bowing  to  Mrs.  Eliot  as  she  rose,  "  we  will  go  right 
along.  Miss  Martin,"  he  said,  passing  her  desk  in 
the  receiving-room  as  he  followed  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  I  won't 
be  back  till  two  o'clock." 


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CHAPTER  VIII 

T  F  you'll  behave  yourself  now,  Ruth,"  said  Bryson 
J-  one  evening,  "  you'll  be  all  right ;  but  keep 
away  from  boys  with  Roman  candles  and  firecrackers. 
She  read  normal  to-day — twenty-twentieths."  June 
and  he  were  sitting  with  Mrs.  Eliot  in  her  room.  Ruth 
stood  between  his  knees. 

"  My ! "  exclaimed  June,  looking  at  Ruth,  "  listen 
to  that,  child !  You  ought  to  be  mighty  good  to  him, 
I  tell  you.  Let's  see  how  your  eye  looks." 

"  There's  quite  a  scar  on  her  neck,"  said  the  doctor, 
regretfully.  "  Couldn't  help  that ;  it  won't  show  when 
she's  older.  I  think  now  with  ordinary  care  she  is 
going  to  get  along." 

"  How  is  she  ever  to  show  her  gratitude  for  it  all, 
Doctor  Bryson  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eliot,  with  the  repres- 
sion that  carries  intense  sincerity.  He  laughed,  slight- 
ingly, "  By  taking  good  care  of  her  eyes." 

"  Doctor,"  called  June,  blinking  mischievously  at 
him  as  he  rose  to  leave,  "  I'm  almost  inclined  to  let  you 
try  to  fix  my  eye,  I  declare." 

Ruth  followed  the  doctor,  as  she  always  did,  out  into 
the  hall,  clinging  to  his  arm  and  skipping  at  his  side. 
In  a  minute  she  came  running  back. 

"  See,  mamma,"  she  cried,  holding  up  her  arm ;  "  see 
what  Doctor  Bryson  gave  me !  Because  I  was  such 
a  good  patient,  he  said." 

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Doctor   Bryson 


"What  did  he  give  you?"  exclaimed  June,  tem- 
pestuously. "  Not  that  bracelet  ?  " 

"Yes;  just  now." 

"  Why,  Ruth,"  cried  her  mother. 

"  Land  sakes,"  exclaimed  June.  "  Gold !  Well,  he 
wouldn't  be  likely  to  give  her  anything  else,  would 
he?" 

"  Oh,  I  wish  he  hadn't  done  this,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot, 
looking  in  distress  at  the  pretty  band.  "  He  ought  not 
to  have  done  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  bridled  June.  "  He's  got  plenty  of 
money.  He's  giving  somebody  something  all  the  time ; 
why  not  her  ?  " 

"  But  he  gives  her  such  an  expensive  thing,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  That's  nothing  for  him.  Why,  he  gave  Johnnie 
Ledgcott  a  watch  last  Christmas  that  must  have  cost 
twenty-five  dollars.  He  doesn't  think  anything  of  that. 
His  folks  are  all  dead  and  he  just  loves  children ;  my 
gracious,  you  can  see  that  with  half  an  eye.  He  thinks 
more  this  minute  of  Johnnie  Ledgcott  than  his  mother 
does,"  declared  June  as  Ruth  danced  the  bangle  up  and 
down  her  wrist  and  capered  around  her  mother. 

"  Did  you  thank  him,  Ruth  ?  "  asked  her  mother. 

"  I  told  him  I  loved  him,  mamma,  and  he  kissed  me," 
blushed  Ruth.  "  Can  I  go  show  it  to  Johnnie,  mam- 
ma?" 

"  Not  to-night,  dear ;  it's  time  to  go  to  bed  now ;  " 
and  June  gossiped  until  it  was  time  for  Ruth  to  say 
her  prayers;  she  always  got  out  when  prayers  began. 
Either  an  evil  spirit  moved,  or  a  good  spirit  pricked, 
within  her — she  got  away.  When  she  made  her  escape 

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Doctor  Bryson 


Ruth  was  kneeling  straight  up  in  bed,  pink  from  throat 
to  foot,  pink  where  the  blood  lighted  her  cheeks  and 
tinged  her  ears,  white  where  the  "  nighty  "  fell  away 
from  her  neck,  and  brown  where  the  curls  tumbled  over 
her  eyes.  She  knelt  and  tried  hard  to  say,  "  Now  I 
lay  me,"  without  thinking  at  every  word  of  the  heavy 
hoop  on  her  wrist,  and  trying  to  shut  her  eyes  so  that 
even  peeping  under  the  long  lashes  she  could  not  see 
the  dazzling  yellow  of  it  in  the  gas  light. 

"  Do  you  realize,  Doctor  Bryson,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot 
in  the  hall  next  morning,  "  that  you  are  tyranically 
generous." 

"How  so?" 

"  You  know  very  well.  When  Ruth  came  in  with 
her  bracelet  last  night  I  was  absolutely  overcome.  After 
your  care  and  trouble  and  taking  only  a  nominal  fee  for 
it  all  and  then—" 

"  You  are  thinking  about  that  fee  all  the  time.  In 
buying  something  for  Ruth  I  gratified  myself.  And 
it's  like  that  piano  last  summer,"  he  laughed,  "  I  can't 
help  it.  I  don't  buy  much,  but  when  I  do  buy  I  like  to 
get  the  best.  They  told  me  at  Mattson's  that  bracelet 
was  all  right ;  is  it  ?  Did  you  look  at  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  exquisite  I  think  it." 

"  I'm  glad  I  struck  it  once.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  have  the  worst  taste  in  the  world,  and  I  have  nobody 
to  educate  me  in  these  things." 

"  I  am  sure  your  taste  is  excellent." 

"  But,  with  the  very  best  you  can  say — undeveloped." 

"  No  matter ;  compliments  do  not  spoil  you,  do 
they?" 

"  I  never  get  any." 

85 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  You  have  in  your  disposition  the  foundation  of  all 
taste — unselfishness."  He  bowed  quite  happy.  "  But 
in  your  manifestations  of  it — such  as  the  last — be  mer- 
ciful, not  overpowering."  Her  eyes  opened  an  instant 
to  ask  forgiveness  for  the  ventured  appeal,  then  closed 
to  their  usual  half  light.  But  it  was  not  the  half  light 
he  carried  away  with  him ;  it  was  the  passing  burst  that 
left  its  image  on  his  heart,  as  the  retina  at  evening  is 
stamped  by  a  fire  of  sun  from  a  twilight  of  clouds. 

Entering  her  room  a  few  minutes  afterward,  Mrs. 
Eliot  had  just  closed  the  door  when  she  heard  a  tap. 
She  turned.  It  was  Mrs.  Ledgcott. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do?    Come  in." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Eliot — how  do  you  do?  I 
wanted  to  see  you  for  just  a  minute.  Isn't  it  a  per- 
fectly lovely  morning?  Ruth,  dear,  how  are  you?" 

"  Sit  down,  Mrs.  Ledgcott,"  requested  Mrs.  Eliot, 
amiably  easy.  Ruth  rather  stared,  for  Mrs.  Ledgcott 
had  never  before  in  all  the  months  of  the  acquaintance 
learned  just  where  Mrs.  Eliot  roomed. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  a  couple  of  days,  Mrs.  Eliot ; 
up  into  Wisconsin  on  a  little  coaching  trip,  don't  you 
know.  I  wanted  to  ask  if  Johnnie  may  not  spend  part 
of  his  time  with  Ruth  while  I  am  gone.  Just  till  Mon- 
day, you  know.  The  dear  little  fellow  is  quite  out  of 
sorts,  and  if  I  hadn't  promised  I  shouldn't  go;  but  I 
hate  to  break  up  a  party,  don't  you  know?  Will  he 
bother  you,  Mrs.  Eliot?  " 

As  Johnnie  spent  all  available  time — which  meant 
every  minute  his  mother  couldn't  keep  him  away  from 
her — with  Ruth,  anyway,  there  was  hardly  more  than 
the  form  to  go  through. 

86 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Certainly  not.  We  are  always  glad  to  have  John- 
nie. It  is  you,  I  fear,  who  have  cause  for  impatience 
because  he  is  here  so  much,"  smiled  Mrs.  Eliot.  She 
could  not  resist  a  gentle  thrust. 

"  Only  on  your  account,  dear  Mrs.  Eliot.  I'm  sure 
he  burdens  you  too  much,  but  the  dear  little  fellow  is  so 
fond  of  Ruth  it  seems  hopeless  to  try  to  keep  him  away. 
I  hope  he  won't  tire  you  to-morrow.  You  must  not 
let  him.  Just  send  him  over  to  the  Annex  the  minute 
he  becomes  a  nuisance,  won't  you,  please  ?  So  I  shan't 
worry  about  his  annoying  you.  I  shall  leave  strict  in- 
junctions with  him  about  that,  and  he  can  dress  him- 
self for  Sabbath-school.  He  always  goes  to  the  Apos- 
tles' Memorial,  you  know ;  he  is  in  Miss  Ague's  class. 
Perhaps  if  he  comes  down  you'll  just  see  his  tie  is 
straight,  don't  you  know;  but  he  does  very  well.  I 
have  tried  to  make  him  self-reliant  and  independent. 
Doctor  Bryson  believes  children  should  be  taught  to  do 
for  themselves  and  others ;  it  makes  them  unselfish,  he 
says.  I  have  a  genuine  horror  of  a  selfish  child." 

"  And  a  selfish  mother,"  assented  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"Yes,  indeed.  That's  worse  still.  Well,"  added 
Mrs.  Ledgcott,  with  the  reflecting  air  of  one  who  tries 
to  remember  all  her  errand,  "  I  think  that's  all.  I 
wanted  so  much  to  take  him  along — the  dear  boy  nearly 
cried  his  heart  out  because  he  couldn't  go  with  me ;  he 
is  so  devoted.  But,  unfortunately,  I  am  only  a  guest, 
you  know,  and  gentlemen  are  so  impatient  of  children. 
WThy  do  you  never  come  over  to  see  me,  Mrs.  Eliot  ?  " 

"  I  have  few  spare  hours,  Mrs.  Ledgcott." 

"  You  teach,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  All  the  time—" 

87 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  I  have  thought  so  often  lately  I  ought  to  take  up 
my  own  music.  But  I,  too,  have  so  little  time.  Well, 
good-by  Ruth ;  good-by !  " 

"  Good-by,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  I  hope  you'll  have 
a  pleasant  time — " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so.  How  d'  you  do,  Miss  June  ?  I 
think  we  shall.  Good-by !  " 

June  entering  the  room  passed  the  baby  lady  with  a 
lowering  eye. 

"  What's  she  up  to  now  ?  "  she  asked,  sitting  down 
on  the  bed. 

"  She  is  going  away  over  Sunday  and  asked  if  John- 
nie might  spend  the  day  with  Ruth." 

"  Humph !    Just  as  if  he  wouldn't  anyway." 

"  She  wants  me  to  keep  an  eye  on  Johnnie  while  she 
is  gone,  I  suppose." 

"  She's  a  good  one.  She  takes  care  he  never  inter- 
feres with  her  fun." 

The  Annex  dinner  table  was  gay  that  Friday  night, 
because  Mrs.  Ledgcott's  announcement  had  been  made 
and  Bowles  rose  to  the  occasion  and  was  witty.  Next 
morning  she  set  off  for  Waukesha,  where  her  party 
was  to  coach  to  Madison.  It  was  autumn  and  Wis- 
consin wore  brown  and  red  and  gold  under  her  blue 
skies,  and  her  lakes  slept.  But  autumn  in  Wisconsin 
and  Chicago  may  be  very  different.  Mrs.  Ledgcott 
was  whirled  on  the  cars  into  sunshine,  but  the  clouds 
behind  thickened  into  mist  and  rain. 

Sunday  morning  it  was  still  raining  in  Chicago. 
Wisconsin  was  bright,  the  coaching  party  gay  on  grav- 
eled roads  and  russet  hills;  Chicago,  raining  miser- 
ably. Bryson  had  a  medical  society  banquet  for  Satur- 

88 


Doctor   Bryson 


day  night  at  the  Athletic  Club  and  did  not  come  home 
till  Sunday  afternoon.  At  the  boarding  house  every- 
body read  all  day.  There  was  really  nothing  for  it 
but  the  Sunday  papers  and  books.  About  four  o'clock 
Bryson  left  John  Allison  before  the  fire  and  started  for 
Mrs.  Eliot's  room  with  a  book.  Ruth  and  Johnnie 
Ledgcott  were  on  the  floor  playing  authors.  June  was 
pouring  a  tale  of  a  rebellious  boarder  into  Mrs.  Eliot's 
sympathetic  ear. 

"  A  patient  gave  it  to  me  yesterday ;  everybody's 
reading  it,"  said  Bryson,  throwing  himself  into  an 
offered  chair  as  Mrs.  Eliot  looked  at  his  book.  "  I 
don't  really  know  what  it  is,  but  everybody's  reading 
it.  There's  a  horse  trade  in  it  that's  alone  worth  the 
price  of  admission.  You  read  and  tell  me  about  it,  will 
you  ?  "  he  asked  of  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  That  will  save  me 
wrestling  with  it.  I've  got  to  be  able  to  answer  ques- 
tions on  it,  for  the  man  that  gave  it  to  me  is  as  sharp 
as  tacks — a  big  wholesale  grocer.  Next  time  I  meet 
him  at  the  club  he'll  cross-examine  me,  sure.  Why — " 
he  exclaimed,  turning  suddenly  towards  Johnnie. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  June.  Bryson  sat 
looking  steadfastly  at  Johnnie  Ledgcott.  "  What 
makes  you  breathe  that  way,  Johnnie  ?  "  he  demanded, 
fixing  his  keen  eyes  on  the  boy. 

Johnnie,  struggling  with  a  breath,  tried  to  laugh 
apologetically.  "  I  have  a  cold,  doctor.  Mamma  said 
it  would  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  Come  here,"  commanded  the  doctor,  brusquely. 
He  stood  Johnnie  before  him  and  watched  his  breath- 
ing. The  little  fellow  smiled  a  frightened  smile  back 

89 


Doctor   Bryson 


at  Ruth,  for  Johnnie  was  alive  to  moods  and  felt  the 
earnestness  in  the  doctor's  voice  and  eye. 

It  wasn't  often  Doctor  Bryson  looked  like  that. 
When  he  did,  older  folks  than  Johnnie  kept  silence. 
He  brushed  aside  Johnnie's  fine  Sabbath-school  tie  and 
pressed  his  ear  to  the  lad's  throat  and  chest;  turned 
him  around ;  listened  between  his  shoulder  blades ;  took 
him  to  the  window,  arid  taking  a  spatula  from  his  vest 
pocket  looked  a  long  time  into  his  throat;  not  a  word 
all  the  time  from  him,  and  certainly  no  word  from  any- 
one else.  He  brought  Johnnie  back  with  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder. 

"  Where  is  his  mother  ?  " 

It  was  such  a  queer  question. 

"  Where  is  his  mother?  "  more  sharply. 

"  Why,  you  know ;  she's  gone  on  the  coaching  party 
up  to  Waukesha,"  explained  June.  "  She  won't  be 
back  till  to-morrow." 

Bryson  looked  at  the  frail,  handsome  boy  as  he  stood 
almost  clinging  to  the  only  friend  he  had  in  the  world 
— the  long-legged,  fierce-eyed  Bryson. 

"  To-morrow  !  "  he  echoed,  savagely.  The  women 
heard  a  suppressed  exclamation  from  the  doctor,  still 
looking  at  the  child.  They  couldn't  for  their  lives  see 
anything  extraordinary  in  Johnnie's  condition.  His 
breath  came  quick,  his  cheeks  were  pinkishly  bright 
and  his  eyes  flashed  like  sea  water ;  that  was  all. 

"  June,"  said  Bryson,  his  words  cutting  like  knives, 
"  put  Johnnie  to  bed — quick.  Is  there  a  fire  in  their 
rooms  ?  Have  one  built  in  the  grate  right  away — a  big 
one.  Get  hot  water  bottles  and  plenty  of  blankets 
ready.  My  room  is  hot — it's  a  little  cool  here.  I'll  take 

90 


Doctor   Bryson 


him  up  there.  Come,  Johnnie,  till  they  get  the  fire 
going  good  and  strong.  Lively,  June;  don't  lose  a 
minute." 

"  Why,  doctor !  What's  the  matter  ?  "  demanded 
June  in  amazement.  Mrs.  Eliot  only  looking  the  ques- 
tion listened  anxiously  at  his  elbow. 

"  Croup.  Johnnie,  did  you  breathe  hard  Friday 
night?" 

"  Pretty  hard.  Mamma  gave  me  some  cough  syrup. 
She  thought  it  would  go  away." 

"  Were  you  outdoors  yesterday  ?    Did  you  get  wet  ?  " 

"  I  was  outdoors,  but  I  didn't  get  wet,  doctor." 

"  Look  here,  Johnnie.  Go  straight  up  to  my  room, 
will  you?  Hold  on,  don't  run.  June,  where's  that 
telephone — in  the  lower  hall?  Has  Mrs.  Ledgcott  a 
physician  ?  "  he  asked,  descending  the  stairs,  followed 
by  June  and  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  She's  got  him  with  her." 

"What?" 

"  She  has  Doctor  Kurd.  He  took  her  on  that  coach- 
ing trip." 

"  Everybody  gone.  Hurry  the  fire,  June."  June 
started  for  the  back  of  the  basement.  Bryson  rang 
sharp  at  the  telephone,  called  Jim  up  at  the  College  and 
began  giving  orders;  called  up  Jevons  on  the  North 
Side — the  head  of  the  throat  department  at  the  College ; 
called  up  his  head  nurse  on  the  West  Side,  and  could 
get  no  connection  and  grew  angry.  The  head  nurse 
could  not  be  found;  she  was  out.  Bryson  hung  up 
the  receiver  impatiently. 

"  Couldn't  I  be  nurse,  doctor  ?  "  said  a  voice  at  his 


Doctor   Bryson 


elbow.    Mrs.  Eliot  was  standing  near  him  in  the  gloom. 

"You?" 

"  I'll  do  just  what  you  tell  me." 

"  You  would  have  to  be  up  all  night." 

"  I  don't  mind  that—" 

"  Yes,  but  I  mean  every  minute — you  can't  close 
your  eyes." 

"  I  won't." 

He  hesitated.  "  Well,  let's  go  upstairs.  He  must 
have  some  medicine  right  away.  I'll  try  Miss  Gridley 
later.  She's  out  with  her  beau,  I  suppose,  like  all  the 
rest  of  them." 

"  Is  he  so  very  sick,  doctor  ?  "  she  asked,  taking  a 
rapid  pace  with  him  up  the  stairs  and  through  the  halls. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  malignant.  I  saw  him  through  one 
attack  when  they  first  came  here  three  years  ago. 
Johnnie  was  getting  away  from  them  and  it  was  just 
an  accident  I  got  him  through." 

"  Tell  me  how." 

"  They  were  giving  him  ipecac  among  other  things. 
A  few  people  have  an  idiosyncrasy  for  ipecac.  Johnnie 
has;  I  discovered  it  through  having  such  an  idiosyn- 
crasy myself,  that  is  all.  Instead  of  relaxing  his 
larynx,  ipecac  actually  contracts  it.  It  is  uncertain.  He 
is  a  sick  boy.  He  will  keep  us  all  guessing  before 
morning,  I'm  afraid.  I'm  glad  his  mother  will  be  back 
by  that  time." 


92 


CHAPTER  IX 

FOR  half  an  hour  there  was  hurrying  up  and  down 
the  Annex  stairs.  The  grate  in  Mrs.  Ledgcott's 
apartments  was  in  her  sitting-room.  In  twenty  minutes 
June  had  a  hot  fire  blazing  in  it,  but  it  did  not  temper 
the  bedroom  air  to  suit  Bryson.  He  wanted  a  tempera- 
ture of  eighty  or  close  to  it,  and  after  one  minute's  de- 
liberation all  hands,  which  included  June,  John  Alli- 
son, Mrs.  Eliot  and  the  doctor,  went  at  the  bed,  took  it 
down  and  set  it  up  where  he  wanted  it  in  the  sitting- 
room.  The  door  leading  to  the  hall  was  straightway 
locked,  and  entrance  had  through  the  hall  door  of  the 
bedroom.  June  was  posted  before  the  grate  to  warm 
blankets.  Mrs.  Eliot,  at  her  side,  undressed  Johnnie, 
and,  in  heavy  flannels,  he  was  bundled  between  hot 
blankets  into  bed.  At  four  o'clock  Jim  arrived  from 
the  College  with  a  huge  package  of  apparatus  and 
medicines.  It  was  not  a  failing  of  Bryson's  to  lose  time 
in  a  fight  or  to  go  into  it  with  ordinary  measures.  He 
brought  in  his  best  regiments  at  the  beginning.  In  a 
critical  case  he  was  a  whirlwind,  and  in  the  sick-room 
a  despot.  Before  Jevons  had  arrived  and  the  doctors 
had  begun  their  consultation,  two  great  vaporizers  were 
blazing,  and  Johnnie,  who  had  recovered  his  spirits 
and  was  inclined  to  look  on  the  excitement  as  a  great 
lark,  peered  happy  as  a  boy  prince  out  of  the  pillows. 
The  two  doctors  looked,  felt,  auscultated,  looked  again, 

93 


Doctor   Bryson 


and  talked  together  at  Johnnie's  side,  then  in  the  halls, 
then  in  Bryson's  room.  After  they  had  finished  their 
confab  Bryson  went  upstairs.  Jevons  lighted  a  cigar 
with  John  Allison.  The  latter  was  too  medically  bred 
to  ask  questions,  and  Jevons  talked  little.  They  smoked 
in  silence,  and  at  six  o'clock,  after  another  half  an  hour 
in  the  sick-room,  he  left.  John,  downstairs,  helped 
him  on  with  his  coat  and  asked  him  if  he  would  be  back 
that  night. 

"  Bryson  is  doing  everything  that  can  be  done.  The 
child's  larynx  is  small — the  inflammation  is  way  ahead 
of  us;  it  is  membranous.  Good  night." 

Upstairs  the  gas  jet  was  shaded,  the  medicines  dis- 
posed upon  the  tables,  the  nurse's  record  opened.  John- 
nie lay  asleep,  breathing  heavily.  Mrs.  Eliot  sat  in  a 
rocking-chair  at  his  side.  A  thermometer  hung  from 
the  fixture  over  the  table  and  another  was  tied,  at  the 
child's  head,  to  the  brass  spindle  of  the  bed.  These 
were  Jim's  charge.  "  Keep  them  at  seventy-eight  de- 
grees," the  doctor  had  ordered,  and  Jim  knew  if  they 
fell  below  seventy-six  his  master  would  supply  all 
needed  warmth  in  his  reproof.  He  stole  at  intervals 
noiselessly  in  and  out  from  the  hall,  where  old  Patrick 
had  established  relays  of  wood  and  coal.  The  vapor- 
izers poured  the  incenselike  odor  of  compound  tincture 
of  benzoin  into  the  warm  air ;  Mrs.  Eliot  rocked ;  Jim 
tiptoed  in  the  shaded  light,  and  outside  the  rain  drove 
against  the  windows,  the  street  lamps  burned  in  a 
foggy  drip  of  haze,  cabs  rumbled  rhythmically  over 
the  cross-town  car  tracks,  and  evening  wore  into  night. 

June  came  in  with  Doctor  Bryson  to  see  about  the 
watching. 

94 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Let  Mrs.  Eliot  call  me  at  twelve  and  I'll  sit  up  till 
morning,"  she  proposed.  But  June  had  a  trick  of 
dozing. 

"  You  come  up  about  ten  arid  stay  till  one  o'clock," 
suggested  Bryson,  with  her  weakness  in  mind.  "  That 
will  give  you  a  little  sleep,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  and 
you  can  go  to  bed  then,  Miss  June,  and  sleep  till  morn- 
ing. You  have  plenty  of  work  in  the  kitchen  after  five 
o'clock." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"  Nap  here  on  the  couch." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  bed  ?  " 

"  Not  to-night." 

As  they  spoke  Johnnie  twisted  restlessly  and  opened 
his  eyes,  heavy  with  fever.  His  face  as  he  raised  on 
his  elbow  showed  about  the  mouth  the  uneasy  greenish 
pallor  of  nausea.  His  breathing  had  scarcely  changed 
since  afternoon ;  but  the  night  was  ahead,  the  night  of 
midnight  and  the  night  of  morning.  He  took  his  medi- 
cine, threw  himself  into  the  pillows  and  went  to  sleep. 
At  one  o'clock  Bryson,  a  sleeper  trained  to  wake  at  will 
on  the  hour,  rose  from  the  couch,  stretched  himself  be- 
fore the  grate,  bent  over  Johnnie  a  minute,  whispered 
to  June  that  she  might  go  to  bed,  peered  at  the  ther- 
mometers, shivered  a  little,  slipped  on  his  coat,  sat 
down  and  folded  his  arms  before  the  fire.  It  was  a 
deep,  steady  anthracite  fire  that  burned  red  and  gold 
from  below,  and  turned  at  the  crest  into  licking  little 
bluish-greenish  flame-tongues — a  glowing,  useful, 
faithful  fire — like  Jim.  Above  its  hardly  perceptible 
little  explosions  there  was  no  sound  except  the  child's 
labored  breathing,  which  fell  steadily  above  the  whir 

95 


Doctor   Bryson 


of  the  rain  on  the  doctor's  ear.  Once  he  got  up,  went 
to  the  bed  and  bent  low  over  Johnnie.  He  watched  the 
labored  expansion  of  the  chest,  the  heavy  struggle  of 
the  lungs  to  pull  in  and  to  push  out  the  air  the  blood 
hungered  for.  He  took  from  the  table  a  candle,  and, 
holding  it  close,  noted  the  color  about  the  lips  and 
nostrils,  and  was  mentally  deciding  the  child  was  get- 
ting enough  air  to  oxidate  his  system,  when  he  felt  a 
presence  at  his  side  and  his  heart  jumped.  Mrs.  Eliot 
leaned  forward  beside  him,  and  he  turned,  candle  in 
hand. 

"How  is  he,  doctor?"  she  breathed.  Her  very 
presence  made  his  heart  beat  in  his  throat. 

"  About  the  same/'  he  answered,  as  they  stepped 
back  and  he  replaced  the  candle  on  the  table. 

"  Why  did  you  get  up  ?  "  he  asked,  drawing  a  stool 
beside  the  chair  in  front  of  the  grate,  and  motioning 
her  to  the  chair  as  he  sat  down  on  the  stool. 

Her  hair  was  coiled.  If  there  was  about  it  a  trace  of 
looseness  it  was  only  the  little  that  sharpens  the  wish 
for  more.  She  was  dressed  as  for  the  day,  and,  sinking 
into  the  chair,  she  turned  toward  him  with  her  hands 
clasped  over  the  arm. 

"  Because  I  want  to  be  of  what  help  I  can." 

"  I  can  manage  alone." 

"  But  you  said — "  A  struggling  breath  from  the 
bed  arrested  her.  Bryson  rose  like  a  mild  mannered 
jumping- jack  and  hastened  to  the  bed. 

"  He  is  tightening,"  said  the  doctor,  after  a  second 
breath  and  a  third.  "  We  must  prepare." 

Straining  for  breath,  Johnnie,  with  suddenly  open- 
96 


Doctor   Bryson 


ing  eyes,  rose  straight  up  in  bed.  He  looked  all  about 
the  room. 

"  Mamma !  "  he  cried,  staring  in  suffocation  and 
fright. 

"  Yes,  Johnnie ;  yes,  dear,"  said  the  voices  on  either 
side  of  the  bed.  "  It's  I,  Johnnie.  Doctor  Bryson  and 
Mrs.  Eliot.  You  remember  us,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Mamma !  "  he  cried,  panting,  gasping. 

"  Call  Jim,  please,  Mrs.  Eliot,"  said  the  doctor,  im- 
peratively. 

"  Mamma ! " 

"  Ask  him  to  give  you  the  hot  water  cloths." 

"Mamma!" 

"  Wring  them  out  hot — hot." 

"I'm— choking!" 

"  No,  Johnnie.  Don't  scald  your  hands.  Be  quick. 
Don't  be  frightened,  Johnnie.  I'll  take  care  of  you." 

The  little  fellow  broke  into  a  hoarse,  quavering  cry. 
Mrs.  Eliot  had  run  to  Jim,  asleep  in  the  window  seat  of 
the  bedroom  on  a  pile  of  Mrs.  Ledgcott's  lovely  sofa 
pillows.  She  had  only  to  call  his  name  and  give  the 
message  when  he  was  on  his  feet.  Close  at  hand  he 
had  a  pan  of  water  hot  on  a  gas  stove.  He  snatched  a 
small  towel  from  a  stand,  and,  holding  each  end,  swung 
it  through  the  pan,  wrung  it  and  passed  it  hot  to  Mrs. 
Eliot,  who  hurried  to  the  doctor. 

"  Now,  Johnnie,"  said  Doctor  Bryson,  "  here's  some- 
thing that  will  help  you.  Never  mind  the  hot." 

"  I  want  mamma.    Mamma ! !    Oh,  oh !  " 

"  It  won't  burn  you,"  urged  the  doctor,  wrapping 
the  cloth  like  a  snake  around  his  neck.  "  It  will  help 
you  to  breathe  better,  Johnnie.  Try  to  keep  still ;  do 

97 


. 

Doctor  Bryson 

try.  It  is  harder  for  you  to  breathe  when  you  struggle 
so.  Quick,  Mrs.  Eliot;  another  towel — hotter." 

Again  and  again  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Eliot  as  they 
worked  that  each  breath  of  the  frantic  boy  would  be 
his  last.  Bryson — silent,  active  and  ignoring  the  des- 
perate conditions — wrung  the  steaming  cloths  about 
Johnnie's  neck  unceasingly.  When  it  seemed  as  if  suf- 
focation must  become  absolute,  as  if  the  very  end  had 
come,  the  vocal  chords  somewhat  relaxed,  and,  bundled 
tight  in  woolen  wrappings,  Johnnie,  cruelly  exhausted, 
was  let  down,  breathing  easier.  He  lay,  as  the  doctor 
commanded,  quiet  as  a  mouse,  taking  his  medicine 
meekly,  thanking  Mrs.  Eliot  when  she  gave  him  a 
drink,  just  as  he  used  to  when  he  played  little  soldier 
with  Ruth:  then  looked  at  each  of  them  pathetically 
with  his  big  bright  eyes  as  they  sat  near.  Once,  when 
Ruth's  mother  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead  and 
his  face  contracted  in  the  nausea  of  the  deadly  tartar 
emetic,  he  asked  if  she  would  not  please  ask  his  mamma 
to  hurry  back  early  in  the  morning — not  knowing  day 
was  already  breaking. 

They  watched  beside  him  through  the  last  of  the 
early  hours,  breakfasted  in  turn,  and  Bryson,  perfectly 
fresh,  laid  the  plans  for  the  day  precisely,  warning 
everybody  that  no  relaxation  of  care  was  possible. 
Only  one  thing  occurred  to  disarrange  them.  Miss 
Gridley,  the  nurse,  came  at  eight  o'clock ;  but  no  morn- 
ing train  brought  Mrs.  Ledgcott.  The  strain  and  the 
disappointment  irritated  everybody.  When  noon  came 
without  Mrs.  Ledgcott  June  broke  out  in  rebellion. 
She  and  Mrs.  Eliot  came  up  together  from  luncheon, 

98 


Doctor   Bryson 


and  June  expressed,  without  reserve,  her  opinion  of  the 
absentee. 

"  If  she  wasn't  such  a  scheming,  selfish  piece  all  the 
time — all  the  time,  mind  you,"  exclaimed  June,  angrily, 
"  I  wouldn't  say  anything  about  her  staying  away  like 
this.  She's  up  there  trying  to  catch  that  Kurd— that's 
what  she's  doing.  I  know  it  just  as  well  as  if  I  was 
there  myself.  She  schemed  two  years  to  catch  Doctor 
Bryson.  She  always  gets  down  to  breakfast  early  so 
she  can  eat  with  the  men — says  she  can't  sleep.  When 
they  go  down  town  she  goes  upstairs  to  bed  and  sleeps 
the  whole  morning;  then  she  thinks  I  ain't  onto  her." 

Jevons  was  in  the  sick-room  when  they  reached  it. 
He  and  Bryson  were  talking  at  the  fireplace.  The 
nurse  sat  near  the  window.  Johnnie  wheezing  pain- 
fully lay  pale  among  the  pillows.  He  looked  appealing- 
ly  at  Mrs.  Eliot  and  tried  to  call. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  said,  hurrying  over.  "  What  is 
it?" 

"  I  am  going  to  die,"  he  whispered. 

"  Oh,  Johnnie,  Johnnie,  no  you're  not.  No,  no,  you 
are  going  to  get  better.  Doctor  Bryson's  going  to  have 
you  well  in  just  a  day  or  two."  He  looked  at  her 
earnestly.  "  Can  I  say  good-by  to  Ruth  ?  " 

"  You  may  say  just  what  you  like  to  Ruth,  dear,  only 
you  are  not  going  to  die.  It  would  make  her  feel  too 
bad,  Johnnie,  if  you  talked  of  that." 

He  looked  far  away.  "  Can  she  just  come  see  me 
then?  And  I — won't  say  a  word  about — that."  Each 
word  cost  a  fearful  effort. 

"  Yes,  dear,  she  shall  come — now  the  nurse  wants 

99 


Doctor   Bryson 

to  give  you  some  medicine — let  me  lift  your  head — 
there." 

When  she  had  laid  him  back  she  followed  the  doctor 
out  through  the  bedroom  down  the  hall.  They  were 
talking  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Jevons  took  his  cigar 
from  his  mouth  as  he  raised  his  hat,  said  good-by,  and 
walked  downstairs. 

"  Could  Ruth  come  up  and  see  Johnnie,  doctor  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Eliot,  as  she  walked  with  Bryson  slowly 
back. 

"  No." 

"  Poor  little  fellow.  He  asked  if  she  might,"  she 
faltered.  "  It  isn't  diphtheria,  is  it?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  abstractedly ;  "  but  it  is  malignant." 

"  Oh,  and  I  foolishly  promised  she  could  come.  What 
can  I  say  ?  " 

"  Say  anything.    Lie." 

"  I  might  say  she  may  come  up  to-morrow  if  he's 
better — he'll  be  over  the  worst  of  it  to-morrow,  won't 
he?" 

They  were  at  the  bedroom  door  before  he  answered. 
"  Yes.  He'll  be  over  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so." 

June  coming  out  met  them.  She  took  both  their  arms 
and  pushed  them  back  with  her. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Bryson. 

"  I  can't  stand  it." 

"What?" 

"  His  breathing." 

"  Go  downstairs  then." 

Tears  started  in  her  eyes.  "  Don't  be  cross,  doctor, 
100 


Doctor   Bryson 


I  can't  help  it."    They  moved  down  the  hall.    "  He's 
awful  sick,  ain't  he,  doctor?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  he  going  to  get  well  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  The  inflammation  is  severe.  It  couldn't  be  worse. 
His  heart  is  acting  badly.  I  am  trying  to  force  it.  You 
can  teU,  June,  almost  as  well  as  I  can,  whether  it  will 
hold  up  for  twenty-four  hours.  That's  all  on  earth 
there  is  to  it.  He's  getting  enough  oxygen  yet,  but  it 
costs  the  heart  a  frightful  price.  Cheer  up,  old  girl; 
I'm  doing  all  in  God's  world  I  can — " 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  she  sobbed,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief  as  she  went  downstairs. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  not  that  way,  Mrs.  Eliot,"  said 
Bryson.  They  walked  up  the  hall  again  together. 
"  It's  been  half  the  battle  to  see  you  around  so  cheer- 
ful—" 

"  Aren't  you  going  down  town  to-day?  " 

"  And  so  helpful.  No.  I  arranged  for  my  lectures. 
There  won't  be  any  patients  looking  for  me  in  this 
blizzard." 

The  rain  had  changed  at  daybreak  into  snow.  A 
storm  was  driving  from  the  northeast.  "  Everything 
is  against  me,"  he  said,  looking  moodily  out.  "  This 
infernal  weather — I  got  hold  of  the  poor  boy  twenty- 
four  hours  too  late — a  flabby  heart." 

"  No  matter — you  will  pull  him  through.  I  feel  sure 
of  it." 

"  The  credit  will  be  half  yours  if  I  do.  Jevons  said 
yesterday  he  would  be  dead  this  morning." 

101 


Doctor  Bryson 


"Doctor!" 

"  That  is  what  he  said — yesterday." 

"Oh,  what  did  he  say  this  morning?" 

"  '  You've  certainly  stuck  him  up,  doctor.  You've 
fooled  me,'  he  said,"  Bryson  quoted  quietly.  "  '  But 
I  doubt  if  you  can  hold  him  to  it.'  " 

"  What  did  you  answer  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  could  fool  him  again,  perhaps.  Possi- 
bly." He  looked  abstractedly  toward  the  bedroom 
door.  "Possibly." 

She  realized  when  she  went  back  into  the  sick-room 
how  slender  Johnnie's  chances  were,  and  hoped  that  the 
afternoon  trains  would  bring  his  mother.  All  the  long 
afternoon  the  white  storm  fell,  and  at  last,  night;  but 
Mrs.  Ledgcott  did  not  come.  Unknown  to  everyone 
at  the  house,  the  telephone  and  telegraph  wires  were 
ringing  with  messages  from  Bryson  urging  her  to  re- 
turn. They  could  not  find  her,  and  the  storm  blew 
harder,  and  Bryson — impassive,  untiring — directed 
and  watched  and  sat  and  napped  in  the  sick-room. 
For  hours  he  kept  Johnnie  breathing  by  sheer  sugges- 
tion, for  when  the  doctor  left  his  side  the  struggling 
boy  ceased  his  herculean  effort  and  lapsed  into  asphyxi- 
ation. With  the  deepening  of  the  night  Bryson  held  the 
candle  oftener  to  his  face,  drawn  now  like  the  face  of 
an  old  man.  Thirty-six  hours  had  aged  it  twice  as 
many  years,  and  it  was  bluish  about  the  lips  and  nos- 
trils with  venous  blood. 

After  a  long  vigil  at  the  bedside  and  at  the  end  of 
ten  minutes'  sleep  for  him  on  the  couch,  Miss  Gridley, 
reluctant,  touched  Bryson's  shoulder.  She  did  not 
speak.  Between  those  who  know  so  few  words  are 

1 02 


Doctor   Bryson 


necessary.  He  listened  an  instant  instinctively  for  the 
hoarse  rasping  breath,  clock  of  the  sick-room,  and  he 
rose  and  went  to  the  bed.  The  sick  boy  was  no  longer 
breathing.  He  was  panting  horribly.  Bryson  took  up 
his  pulse — looked  mechanically  at  his  watch.  It  was 
hard  on  midnight.  While  he  looked  the  bells  of  the 
Apostles'  Memorial  Church  began  chiming  the  last 
quarter  of  the  day.  At  the  same  moment  the  portieres 
were  pushed  aside.  June  and  Mrs.  Eliot,  sleepless, 
restless  and  miserable,  stole  together  into  the  room. 

"  We  will  try  an  intubation,  Miss  Gridley,  at  once. 
Get  the  set  ready,"  directed  Bryson,  taking  off  his 
coat. 

"  What's  he  going  to  do?  "  whispered  June  as  Bry- 
son stepped  to  the  bedroom  to  wash  his  hands. 

"  He's  going  to  slip  a  gold  tube  into  the  larynx  to 
keep  it  open.  It's  a  fearfully  hard  thing  to  do.  He's 
choking  to  death." 

As  if  he  heard — though  he  could  not — Johnnie  Ledg- 
cott  sat  up,  struggling.  His  face  set  in  an  agony  of 
fear,  and  looking  appealingly  from  one  to  another 
about  him,  he  strove  to  cry  out;  but  crying  out  was 
past. 

"  Johnnie,"  said  the  doctor,  hurrying  back,  "  I'm  go- 
ing to  help  you  breathe  better — I  want  to  slip  this  tube 
into  your  throat;  try  to  keep  quiet.  It  may  hurt  a 
little,  but  you  must  have  air — "  The  child  controlled 
himself  for  a  minute  bravely.  The  surgeon  and  the 
nurse  began  almost  at  once  the  delicate  and  difficult 
operation.  With  their  efforts,  weakness,  fright,  suffo- 
cation mastered  the  child.  He  resisted  convulsively, 
and  became  unmanageable.  The  struggle  between  the 

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Doctor   Bryson 


three  grew  sickening.  Bryson  coaxed  and  pleaded  and 
attempted  again  and  again  to  make  the  insertion.  June 
and  Mrs.  Eliot  fled  to  the  bedroom  and  waited  trem- 
blingly for  the  outcome.  After  a  time  the  strangula- 
tion bore  less  upon  their  ears — the  terrifying  sounds 
ceased.  The  nurse  came  out  to  wet  a  towel.  They 
seized  her  arms. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  whispered,  excitedly.  "  It  is  in. 
The  doctor  had  an  awful  time.  He's  breathing."  She 
had  hardly  spoken  when  Bryson  stalked  to  her  side  at 
the  washstand,  turned  up  the  gas  and  began  furiously 
washing  his  hands.  His  hair  was  tumbled,  his  shirt 
flecked  with  blood,  his  forehead  pale  and  dripping 
sweat.  Heedless  of  those  about  him,  an  oath  burst 
from  his  lips. 

"  A  woman  that  will  neglect  a  child  like  that,"  he 
exclaimed,  in  rage,  "  ought  to  be  quartered  and  hung 
to  the  four  winds.  Gridley,  watch  his  pulse  now  like  a 
cat.  Give  him  all  the  brandy  you  can." 

"  Doctor,"  trembled  Mrs.  Eliot,  shocked  and  fright- 
ened as  the  nurse  hurried  back  to  the  bed,  "  you  suc- 
ceeded ?  "  He  turned  coolly,  nodded,  wiped  his  hands 
and  mopped  his  face  with  the  dry  towel.  She  looked  a 
hundred  questions. 

"  It's  up  to  the  heart  now,"  was  all  he  said. 

When  they  entered  the  sick-room  the  dreadful 
breathing  was  no  longer  heard.  It  was  such  a  relief  to 
June  and  her  companion  that  they  cheered  up.  With 
all  four  sitting  thus  about  the  room  and  Jim  at  intervals 
pawkily  feeding  the  fire,  the  night  wore  into  the  dead 
and  into  the  early  morning.  Miss  Gridley,  speaking  to 
the  doctor,  went  down  with  June  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee. 

104 


Doctor  Bryson 


Mrs.  Eliot  sat  at  the  bedside.  Doctor  Bryson,  throw- 
ing off  the  blanket  he  had  been  napping  under,  stood 
with  folded  arms  and  disordered  hair  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  looking  at  the  pinched,  sunken  face  under  the 
shaded  lamp.  Mrs.  Eliot  tried,  too,  to  read  some- 
thing from  the  faint,  short  respiration,  for  even  she 
perceived  it  had  changed.  Once  Johnnie  rested,  she 
thought.  Between  breaths  he  dropped  one,  seeming 
easier  and  quieter.  The  doctor  stepped  silently  to  the 
table,  and,  taking  up  a  delicate  instrument,  went  to  the 
boy,  bared  his  arm,  raised  its  flesh  between  the  fingers 
of  the  left  hand,  pricked  the  needle  into  the  white  skin 
and  pressed  brandy  again  into  the  delicate  tissue.  He 
withdrew  the  syringe  and  knelt  on  one  knee  beside  the 
bed,  holding  the  pulse  in  his  hand.  He  bent  his  head 
and  put  his  ear  for  an  answer  to  the  heart.  It  was  still 
in  the  room,  for  the  snow  beat  softly  on  the  window 
panes  and  muffled  the  clank  of  the  cab-wheels  over  the 
car-tracks.  Rising,  the  doctor  walked  to  the  foot  of 
the  bed  and  stood  again,  his  head  down,  watching. 
Mrs.  Eliot  tiptoed  to  his  side. 

"  The  dear  little  fellow  is  easier,  isn't  he?" 

He  looked  kindly  at  her.  "  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
body die  ?  "  he  asked,  in  his  blunt  way. 

"  No,  doctor." 

"  Never  do  if  you  can  help  it.  Keep  away  from 
deathbeds  as  long  as  you  can.  A  child's  death  isn't 
pleasant ;  a  woman's  is  worse ;  a  man's,  horrible." 

She  wondered  why  he  spoke  in  that  way,  and  re- 
peated her  question.  "  But  Johnnie  is  easier,  isn't  he, 
doctor  ?  " 

105 


Doctor  Bryson 


He  smiled  bitterly  sad.  "  Yes :  easier.  Don't  you 
know?  He  is  dying." 

She  caught  at  the  bed.    "  No !    No !    Not  dying  ?  " 

"Dying;  deserted  in  a  boarding  house,"  he  said, 
hoarsely  deliberate.  "  No  home ;  no  father ;  no  mother ; 
no  prayer.  Just  like  a  poor  little  friendless  puppy; 
dying." 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  couldn't  save  him.  I  never  had  a  show  for  a 
single  hour  to  save  him.  I've  played  my  last  card — 
and  lost.  Listen;  do  you  notice  that?  He  drops  a 
breath  every  little  while ;  he's  dying.  Don't  stay  here," 
he  urged,  as  she  sobbed  harder ;  "  don't  see  him  die. 
That  is  for  me  to  do ;  it  is  my  reward.  Go.  Go,  Mrs. 
Eliot."  He  took  her  arm,  but  she  would  not  go  away. 
She  tottered  forward;  he  supported  her  to  Johnnie's 
side.  She  fell  on  her  knees,  threw  her  arms  across  the 
coverlet  and  buried  her  face,  sobbing.  June,  running 
in,  saw  all,  fell  beside  Mrs.  Eliot,  and,  throwing  an 
arm  around  the  child,  shrieked  as  if  to  brave  the  mes- 
senger that  hovered  over  him.  But  Johnnie  was  easier ; 
and  the  nurse  wiped  the  thin  froth  from  his  white  lips ; 
he  was  dead. 

In  the  gloom  of  the  late  morning  there  came  a  sharp 
ring  at  the  Annex  basement.  June,  from  the  dining- 
room,  opened  the  door;  Mrs.  Ledgcott  stood  there. 

"  Oh,  June,  how  are  you  all  ?  Dear,  I'm  glad  to  get 
back,"  she  cried,  happily,  shaking  the  snow  from  her 
wraps  and  stamping  her  little  feet.  "  Isn't  this  a  horri- 
ble storm  ?  It  was  so  dreadful  at  Milwaukee  yesterday, 
Doctor  Kurd  said  I  just  shouldn't  start.  He  said  it 

106 


Doctor  Bryson 


would  be  dangerous  to  expose  myself.    Well,  how  are 
you  all  ?    How's  Johnnie  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Eliot  wants  to  see  you  about  Johnnie." 

"  What  ?    Now,  June !  has  he  been  misbehaving  ?  " 

"No.    He's  dead/' 

It  had  not  been  so  planned.  The  telling  had  been  as- 
signed to  Mrs.  Eliot,  but  June  blurted  everything  out 
before  they  could  stop  her.  Mrs.  Ledgcott  sunk  shiver- 
ing to  the  basement  floor.  She  choked  hysterically  as 
she  fell  and  screamed.  June,  with  a  cloudy  eye,  looked 
coldly  on.  Then,  relenting,  she  tried  to  pick  her  up. 
But  Mrs.  Ledgcott,  at  that,  screamed  appallingly  and 
wriggled  out  of  June's  arms. 

"  All  right,"  muttered  June,  fiercely.  "  Lie  there. 
Kick  and  fling  till  you're  tired  of  it." 

The  women  rushed  in  from  the  breakfast  table.  Mrs. 
Goddard  and  Mrs.  Eliot  got  Mrs.  Ledgcott  upstairs. 
She  so  frightened  everybody  with  her  grief  that  they 
sent  hurriedly  down  to  Bryson,  quietly  breakfasting. 

"  Doctor,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Goddard, 
fearfully. 

Bryson  looked  up,  a  bit  haggard,  from  his  coffee. 
"What's  she  doing?" 

"Mercy,  can't  you  hear  her?  Screaming  madly — 
and  choking.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"  Throw  a  bucket  of  ice-water  on  her." 

"  Oh,  doctor.  Just  as  she  is  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Goddard, 
horror  stricken. 

"  Just  exactly  as  she  is.  If  that  doesn't  feaze  her  put 
her  into  a  bathtub  and  rub  ice  up  and  down  her  spine. 
What  she  needs  is  something  worse  than  she's  got. 
Come,  John,"  said  he  to  Allison,  getting  up  from  the 
table.  "  Going  down  town  ?  " 

107 


CHAPTER  X 

A  SECOND  sensation,  and  even  more  bewildering, 
followed  Johnnie  Ledgcott's  funeral  at  Miss 
Borderly's.  Miss  Mary,  on  the  very  day  following,  an- 
nounced the  close  of  the  house  of  Borderly.  There  was 
consternation  among  a  hundred  people.  There  was 
wrath,  grief,  protest;  but  to  Miss  Mary's  mind  it  was 
a  simple  business  proposition.  The  landlord  had  an- 
nounced a  rise  in  the  rent;  the  location  was  too  far 
down  town.  People  were  going  further  out.  The 
plumbing  was  out  of  dale;  the  row  of  houses  was  not 
worth  the  rent;  the  big  copartnership  must  be  dis- 
solved. A  few  professed  to  be  glad,  but  many  for 
years  had  known  no  home  but  Miss  Borderly's.  Even 
a  boarding  house  counterfeits  in  some  respects  the 
sacredness  of  a  home,  and  the  breaking  up  of  any 
home,  real  or  professed,  is  a  dire  event.  Miss  Mary, 
however,  was  as  impervious  to  sentiment  as  a  mackin- 
tosh to  moisture.  She  frankly  confessed  she  was  not 
doing  business  for  her  health. 

June  naturally  caught  most  of  the  reproaches.  At 
the  Bryson-Goddard  table  there  was  the  worst  kind  of 
rebellion — the  rebellion  of  the  very  prosperous — and  it 
took  such  insidious  shape  that  June  herself  went  over 
to  the  enemy  and  denounced  Miss  Mary.  In  truth, 
June  was  easily  seduced  into  the  opposition  ranks,  for 
her  set  in  the  Annex  was  as  much  to  her  as  the  house 

108 


Doctor   Bryson 


was  to  them.  June  being  a  creature  of  sentiment  ill- 
brooked  the  breaking  up,  and  asked  herself  what  was 
to  become  of  her  after  the  deluge.  Stay  in  a  five-room 
flat  and  wait  on  sister  Mary  and  sister  Anna?  No 
people,  no  profanity,  no  poker?  No  cosey  evenings  in 
the  den,  with  a  prosperous  fire  and  the  doctor  telling  a 
story  and  John  pulling  quietly  at  a  brier ;  or  a  twilight 
hour  with  Mrs.  Eliot  and  Ruth;  or  the  very  latest 
South  Side  stirring  social  event  in  subdued,  dramatic 
tones  from  Mrs.  Goddard  ? 

The  minute  the  men  saw  her  unsettled  they  knew  the 
business  was  done.  The  next  thing  was  merely  the 
proper  scheme — and  what  Chicago  man,  with  an  emer- 
gency to  be  met,  is  without  an  adequate  scheme?  It 
was  devised  in  the  den.  First  Bryson  and  John  Alli- 
son, over  a  grate  fire  and  a  pipe.  Then  June,  brought 
in  and  discreetly  sounded  and  cautiously  urged ;  Mrs. 
Goddard  and  Miss  Montague,  in  marvelous  soft-flow- 
ing gowns,  added  to  the  firelight;  two  or  three  other 
favored  ones  let  in.  Mrs.  Eliot  whispered  to  by  June 
privately;  objections  on  various  hands  raised;  objec- 
tions met.  Difficulties  encountered,  difficulties  over- 
come. Secrecy  asked  and  secrecy  pledged,  and  Miss 
June,  one  fine  morning,  in  jacket  and  bonnet  alone  in 
the  cable  cars,  on  free  transportation  furnished  by  John 
Allison,  headed  south,  house  hunting. 

Then  the  Annex  set  grew  suddenly  calm — looked 
patronizing  while  others  looked  perplexed.  A  lease 
was  brought  by  Miss  June  into  the  den ;  signed  by  her 
and  guaranteed  jointly  and  severally  by  John  C.  Allison 
and  Henry  Elwood  Bryson.  Furniture  was  selected 
by  various  parties  in  interest,  to  be  delivered  on  order 

109 


Doctor   Bryson 


at  a  modern  fourteen-room  residence  on  one  of  the 
lower  avenues;  Julie  MacGeveny,  the  crack  Borderly 
cook,  engaged ;  Nannie,  the  demurest  of  the  maids,  se- 
cured. What  more  would  you  have  but  the  announce- 
ment that  stirred  envy  from  end  to  end  of  the  dining- 
room,  that  Miss  June  had  taken  a  house  and  would 
open  it  with  a  strictly  limited  and  select  company  of 
ten  boarders,  six  from  the  Annex.  And  there  was 
envious  comment  when  the  news  went  round  the 
dining-room  with  the  postscript  that  her  rooms  were 
all  taken.  Miss  Mary  was  cold  over  June's  venture, 
but  that  chilled  nobody's  ardor.  John  Allison  and  Bry- 
son gave  her  carte  blanche,  and  June  had  a  new  home 
and  a  den  ready  for  them  on  New  Year's  day. 

A  farewell  dinner  given  in  the  Annex  on  Christmas 
surpassed  every  banquet  ever  held  under  the  roof ;  and 
one  single  procession  of  vans  removed  everybody  con- 
cerned, as  well  as  the  big  music  box  of  Bowles,  down  to 
the  new  quarters.  The  dining-room  was  formally 
christened  on  New  Year's  with  light  heart  and  holiday 
wine,  and  those  who  sat  together  were  a  goodly  com- 
pany, young  and  happy  and  wise  and  flushed  with 
prosperity  and  the  good  of  life.  Miss  June  glowed  a£ 
the  head  of  the  table  and  served  many,  many  good 
things  that  New  Year's  night;  and  Bryson,  tall  and 
dignified,  presided  at  the  foot  and  tried  to  fill  John 
Allison's  glass  oftener  than  anybody  else's,  and  tried 
without  success  to  fill  Mrs.  Eliot's  at  least  once. 

The  routine  at  Miss  June's  settled  into  much  the 
same  lines  that  prevailed  at  Miss  Borderly's.  She  was 
flooded  with  applications  for  board,  but  none  were 
passed  on  except  in  open  meeting,  as  Bowles  called  the 

no 


Doctor  Bryson 


dinner  table,  and  if  objections  were  raised  the  appli- 
cants were  turned  down.  The  great  object  was  not  to 
keep  the  house  full,  said  Bryson,  but  to  keep  it  empty. 
In  the  evening  if  they  went  out  they  went  in  sets.  If 
they  stayed  at  home  they  had  music,  with  John  Allison 
singing  or  Mrs.  Eliot  at  the  piano,  Bowles  and  Miss 
Montague  two-stepping  around  the  new  furniture. 
They  played  cards,  especially  when  Goddard  was  ai 
home,  for  he  was  a  Colorado  man  and  a  "  stayer,"  and 
in  a  jack-pot  his  long  red  scar  would  turn  muddy  white 
for  fear  of  revealing  something  in  his  face.  Mrs.  Eliot, 
in  spite  of  urging,  remained  an  outsider  at  cards. 
She  never  played  save  under  coercion,  and  one  night 
confessed  very  frankly  that  she  thought  cards  stupid, 
no  necessary  part  of  a  woman's  education,  and  declined 
to  blunder  longer  to  please  anybody.  And  Miss  Mon- 
tague, who  played  only  because  the  others  played,  ap- 
plauded her.  If  Mrs.  Goddard  did  not  applaud,  being, 
as  her  husband  classed  her,  a  "  dead  game  sport,"  she 
remembered  Mrs.  Eliot's  unerring  judgment  on  hats 
and  gowns  and  effects  feminine  of  every  description — 
a  weak  point  in  her  own  philosophy — and  smiled  at  the 
heretic.  Even  the  men  discovered  her  gift  in  these 
things  and  referred  new  clothes  and  new  hats  to  Mrs. 
Eliot's  judgment.  So  without  being  precisely  of  them 
she  was,  as  she  had  been  in  the  Annex,  in  a  way  with 
them,  and  welcome.  She  worked  hard ;  at  least  she 
came  home  at  night  very  tired  sometimes  and  glad  to 
go  to  her  rooms,  which  were  on  the  second  floor  in  the 
rear.  When  there  was  a  down-town  party  she  would 
sometimes  go  with  the  crowd,  for  June  rather  courted 
taking  care  of  Ruth — that  is,  sitting  in  the  den  reading 

III 


Doctor   Bryson 


the  doctor's  magazines  with  the  hall  doors  open  so  that 
she  could  hear  if  Ruth  called  out. 

The  weather  was  never  too  bad  for  Mrs.  Eliot  to  go 
to  her  studio,  which  was  in  the  Fine  Arts  Building  on 
Michigan  Avenue,  and  at  Miss  June's  she  would  have 
been  considered  still  more  conscientious  at  her  teach- 
ing had  it  been  known  that  sometimes  for  hours  to- 
gether she  sat  there  patiently  waiting  for  pupils  to  avail 
themselves  of  her  services.  She  was  first  down  town  in 
the  morning,  and  very  often  Bryson  and  John,  who 
went  together,  rode  down  with  her,  she  getting  off  at 
Van  Buren  Street.  John  always  saw  that  she  had 
passes  on  the  street  cars.  "  They  cost  me  nothing,"  he 
would  say  when  she  demurred  at  accepting  them. 
"  You  might  as  well  have  them  as  the  thousand-odd 
other  people  that  do."  And  she  would  reluctantly  ac- 
cept them  at  times  and  say  she  felt  quite  sure,  some- 
how, she  ought  not  to.  But  everybody  at  Miss  June's 
rode  on  John's  tickets,  and  it  seemed  awkward  to  re- 
fuse the  courtesy. 

Sometimes  other  things  along  the  same  line  seemed 
to  cause  embarrassment  to  Mrs.  Eliot.  Toward  spring 
she  complained  about  headaches,  and  Bryson,  who, 
without  appearing  to  observe  anything,  observed  every- 
thing, suggested  they  might  come  from  her  eyes.  "  If 
you  will  come  in  some  morning  when  you  are  down 
town  I  will  look  at  them ;  you  may  need  glasses."  Mrs. 
Eliot  thanked  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  he  one  morning  some  weeks  later,  when 
he  had  again  quietly  suggested  examining  her  eyes  to 
correct  the  trouble,  and  she  had  again  thanked  him, 
"  you  thank  me,  but  you  don't  come ;  and  you  are  strain- 

112 


Doctor   Bryson 


ing  your  eyes,  I  suspect,  unnecessarily."  They  were 
riding  down  in  the  street  car  and  he  was  talking  as  he 
often  talked  about  her  health  and  her  work. 

''Do  you  find  it  profitable — teaching?"  he  asked 
once.  She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Fairly.  Not  so  profitable  as  I  try  to  make  myself 
think,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  you  teach,  but  I  know  I 
never  in  my  life  heard  anybody  get  the  music  out  of  a 
piano  that  you  do.  It  has  the  strangest  effect  on  me 
when  you  play — " 

"  You  are  so  fond  of  music  you  ought  to  be  a  mu- 
sician." 

"  1  shall  have  to  take  lessons  of  you  some  time." 

"  Very  well ;  you  shall  have  them  free." 

"'  Don't  be  rash,  for  I  may  take  you  up  unexpectedly. 
How  are  the  headaches  ?  " 

"  Not  much  better,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Yet  you  read  the  newspaper  on  the  street  car." 

"Shouldn't  I?" 

"  You  never  see  me  do  it,  do  you  ?  My  eyes  are  per- 
fect, but  I  need  perfect  eyes.  It  is  habits  such  as  read- 
ing on  the  cars  that  makes  business  for  us.  When  are 
you  coming  up  to  have  your  eyes  examined  ?  " 

There  was  no  getting  away  from  his  calm  persistence. 
One  day  when  her  headache  was  unendurable  he  gave 
her  a  bottle  of  atropine  and  an  eye-dropper,  with  the 
necessary  instructions,  and  told  her  he  thought  he  could 
cure  her  headache.  On  the  third  day  after  using  it  he 
bade  her  come  down  to  the  office.  "  Unless,"  he  added, 
"  it  is  too  cold." 

It  was,  in  fact,  a  bitterly  cold  day.    But  Mrs.  Eliot 


Doctor   Bryson 


was  nervous  under  the  queer  condition  of  her  sight, 
due  to  the  atropine,  and  preferred  to  take  the  examin- 
ation at  once. 

"  At  what  time  shall  I  come,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Any  time  you  like.  You  know  I  have  a  clinic  from 
ten  to  eleven.  When  you  come  bring  this."  He  took 
from  his  pocket  a  small  card  and  across  it  wrote  a  word 
— "  Immediate." 

Somewhat  dazed  with  her  dilated  pupils,  Mrs.  Eliot 
presented  the  tiny  credential  to  Miss  Martin  that  after- 
noon, and  it  wreathed  the  able  secretary's  face  in  smiles. 
Mrs.  Eliot  had  hardly  time  to  reflect  on  its  magic  when 
Jim  ushered  her  into  Doctor  Bryson's  office,  where  he 
was  just  disposing  of  a  patient. 

"  A  most  interesting  case  of  hysterical  amblyopia," 
he  explained,  as  the  patient,  a  dark-eyed,  florid  girl  of 
twelve  years,  passed  out. 

"Pray  what  is  that?" 

"  Just  wait  a  moment  and  I'll  show  you,"  said  he, 
ringing  for  Jim.  "  Ask  that  girl  to  step  back  here  a 
minute.  I'll  show  you  just  what  it  is,"  he  resumed  to 
Mrs.  Eliot.  "  After  you  see  you  will  know  as  much 
about  it  as  I  do.  Only  observe ;  in  my  demonstration  I 
shall  put  this  glass  on  her  eyes  to  read  with — this  ar- 
rangement," he  explained,  holding  up  a  complicated 
lens  arrangement  on  a  trial  frame.  "  I  shall  have  two 
cylinders,  one  over  the  other,  one  plus  fifty  and  one 
minus  fifty.  One  neutralizes  the  other,  and  the  effect 
is  the  same  as  looking  through  a  simple  pane  of  glass. 
In  other  words,  these  glasses  that  I  shall  place  on  her 
eyes  to  read  the  letters  on  that  chart  with  will  have  no 
physical  effect  whatever  on  her  sight.  Yet  with  them 

114 


Doctor   Bryson 


she  can  read  all  the  type  over  there,  and  without  them 
she  cannot  read  letters  two  inches  high." 

While  Mrs.  Eliot  strove  to  comprehend,  Doctor  Bry- 
son rigged  a  pair  of  powerful  lenses  in  a  frame  to  en- 
able her  to  see  things  herself.  Jim  came  back  presently 
with  the  large  brunette  girl,  who  was  richly  dressed 
and  accompanied  by  her  older  brother. 

"  Sara,"  said  the  doctor,  "  this  is  Mrs.  Eliot,  who  has 
a  little  girl  like  you.  I  want  to  show  her  how  well  you 
read  with  your  glasses.  First  read  without  them. 
Now." 

Sara  read  at  the  type  chart,  but  badly.  At  the  third 
line  she  quite  lost  the  big  letters.  Bryson  put  the  plain 
glasses  on  her,  and  she  read  again,  this  time  without 
difficulty,  to  the  small  type  on  the  chart.  "  Twenty- 
twentieths,"  announced  the  doctor,  amiably.  "  Thank 
you,  Sara.  Come  again  to-morrow.  You  couldn't  be- 
lieve it  unless  you  saw  it,  could  you  ?  "  he  asked,  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Eliot  as  the  door  closed.  "  Somewhere  be- 
tween the  optic  nerve  and  the  brain  in  that  child's  head 
there  is  a  hitch  in  the  connection  of  impression.  There 
is  not  the  slightest  physical  difference  made  in  her 
sight  by  adding  these  glasses.  Yet  when  I  tell  her  she 
can  see  with  them,  she  sees,  as  you  have  witnessed. 
Queer,  isn't  it?" 

"  How  did  you  treat  her  to  accomplish  this?  " 

"  By  something  just  as  inexplicably  strange — sug- 
gestion." 

"Suggestion?" 

"  Hypnotism  is  a  bigger  word  for  it.  I  bid  her  see  and 
she  sees ;  that's  what  it  amounts  to." 

"  Are  you  a  hypnotist,  doctor  ?  " 

"5 


Doctor   Bryson 


He  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  I'm  not.  I  dis- 
avow the  name.  Yet  to  an  extent  all  medical  men  are 
hypnotists.  I  show  you  this  case  because  it  is  absolute 
— a  perfect  type  of  something  we  know  nothing  what- 
ever about." 

"  What  nationality  is  she?  " 

"  Jewish..  The  Jews  are  neurotic,  subject,  by  the 
way,  to  glaucoma;  a  most  interesting  people.  Now 
let's  go  through  the  primer  lesson  together,  if  you 
please."  He  adjusted  the  trial-frame  bows  deftly  over 
her  ears.  "  Read  with  your  left  eye." 

Mrs.  Eliot  read;  so  well  that  they  both  laughed. 
"  No  headache  there,"  commented  Bryson,  grimly. 
"  Now  try  the  right  eye.  From  the  looks  of  it  I  think 
it  will  give  us  the  headache,"  he  said,  shifting  the  blind. 
The  right  eye  did  tell  the  story.  "  It  is  astigmatism, 
and  we  will  measure  it.  Perhaps  you'd  better  take  off 
your  hat."  She  removed  her  hat ;  he  took  it  to  lay  it  on 
the  table. 

"  Is  this  one  of  those  things  Miss  June  is  always  talk- 
ing about  that  you  make  yourself  ?  "  he  asked,  holding 
it  up. 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  "  Yes.  That  is  one  of  those 
things." 

"  Oh,  I  meant  nothing  but  admiration  for  it,  only  I 
don't  know  the  name.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  toque,"  she  answered.  "  What  is  next,  doc- 
tor?" 

He  put  the  hat  down  with  much  care.  "  The  oph- 
thalmometer ;  sit  there,  please.  Now,"  he  added,  after 
no  end  of  focusing  and  adjusting  and  the  putting  down 
of  some  figures,  "  I'll  look  at  the  retina  and  refract  you 

116 


Doctor   Bryson 


with  the  retinoscope.  That  will  take  us  to  the  dark- 
room for  a  moment." 

Holding  her  gloves  and  jacket,  she  followed  Doctor 
Bryson  into  the  receiving-room,  not  without  some 
slight  satisfaction  in  her  erect  carriage,  for  every  eye 
turned  where  Bryson  went,  and  his  patients  were  of 
themselves  distinguished.  He  paused  just  at  his  office 
door. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  suggested,  "  leave  your  wraps  here 
in  the  office. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  murmured  as  he  took  them.  She 
poised  herself  then  with  especial  dignity  to  pass  Miss 
Martin's  desk  or  to  encounter  Doctor  Kurd,  whose 
pitiless  bill  still  lingered  in  her  memory.  Sure  enough, 
they  did  meet  him.  He  advanced  his  stubby  neck  and 
shoulders  briskly  toward  them  with  his  hateful  smile, 
and  she  bowed.  Bryson  saw  the  bow.  He  went  into 
the  dark-room  in  great  humor. 

"  Artistically  done,"  he  laughed.  She  assumed  some 
surprise.  "  Now,  please  don't  freeze  me,"  he  pleaded. 
"  I  couldn't  help  seeing  it,  could  I  ?  1  only  say  it  was 
the  best  I  ever  saw ;  served  him  right,  too.  If  you  will 
sit  here,  please.  So,  as  the  Germans  say." 

He  adjusted  the  gas  bracket  and  shade  behind  her 
ear  and  took  out  the  ophthalmoscope.  Focusing  the 
rays  upon  her  eye,  always  singularly  calm,  Doctor  Bry- 
son slowly  examined  each  retina  in  turn.  It  was  rather 
tedious,  a  little  trying,  but  she  sat  immovable  even 
when,  in  his  scrutiny,  he  drew  so  close  that  his  eye  was 
glued  to  her  own. 

"Three  things  that  I  have  studied  in  my  life,"  he 
said  at  last,  putting  away  the  ophthalmoscope,  "  have 

117 


Doctor   Bryson 

held  me  in  awe :  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  X-ray, 
the  retina  of  the  eye." 

"  Are  they  so  wonderful  ?  " 

"  Passing  understanding.  There  is  nothing  more 
exquisitely  beautiful  than  the  retina.  With  care  you 
should  have  good  sight  as  long  as  you  live.  You 
have  exceptional  eyes — wonderful,  really.  It  is  split- 
ting hairs  now,  but  I  want  to  refract  you  with  the 
retinoscope  to  confirm  my  other  tests."  At  the  con- 
clusion he  seemed  satisfied.  They  returned  to  the  office. 
"  I  will  bring  your  glasses  down  to-morrow  night,"  he 
continued,  finishing  his  memorandum  while  she  put  on 
her  hat. 

"  Are  you  going  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  doctor." 

"Can  you  wait  two  minutes?  I'll  go  down  with 
you—" 

"  Certainly." 

"  We  will  drive  if  you  say  so.  I  can  have  the  horses 
here  in  five  minutes." 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you.  Let  us  take  the  car."  His 
hand  was  on  the  button  for  Jim  to  order  the  team. 

"  It's  queer,"  said  he,  stopping,  "  I  never  can  get  you 
behind  my  horses." 

"  Really,  I  am  mortally  afraid  of  horses,  doctor." 

"  It's  a  fearfully  cold  day  to  ride  in  the  cars.  Do 
you  know  it  was  eight  below  zero  at  noon  ?  " 

"  I  was  run  away  with  once." 

"  I'll  wrap  you  up  in  robes  till  you  are  warm  as  toast. 
You'll  never  run  away  with  me,  I  promise  you." 

"  I'm  sure  I  shan't.  I  know  my  fear  is  absurd,  but 
I  can't  overcome  it." 

118 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  You  let  Ruth  ride  with  me."  She  showed  no  trace 
of  confusion. 

"  True,  but  she  is  not  afraid,  and  I  should  trust  her 
anywhere  with  you.  I  will  ride  in  the  phaeton  if  it  will 
very  much  please  you." 

He  laughed  to  throw  off  the  slight  strain  that  both 
were  suddenly  conscious  of.  "  Oh,  no.  I  only  want 
to  give  you  comfort,  and  you  prefer  the  cable,  so  we 
will  take  the  cable."  He  avoided  saying  car  because 
cable  seemed  a  term  of  reproach  and  he  wanted  the 
shade  of  resentment  the  word  gave  him. 

"  Let's  walk  down  Michigan  Avenue  a  way,  if  you 
don't  object,"  he  suggested  when  they  reached  the 
street.  "  The  air  is  good,  if  it  is  frosty."  At  Jackson 
Street  he  halted  before  a  florist's.  "  Step  in  just  a 
moment,  will  you?  I  want  to  get  some  flowers;  then 
we'll  take  the  car."  A  smiling  German  girl  came  for- 
ward; the  doctor  was  a  good  customer.  He  bought 
some  tulips  for  the  table  and  some  violets  for  Ruth. 

"  Now  what  can  I  get  for  you  ?  "  he  asked,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Eliot,  while  the  blond  head  of  the  German  girl 
was  in  the  window. 

"  Oh,  nothing  for  me,  doctor.  Thank  you  ever  so 
much.  You  see — " 

"  You  never  will  let  me  give  a  flower  to  you." 

"  I  know  itc  indefensible ;  but  I  grew  up  in  the  coun- 
try, doctor,"  she  said,  brightening  with  interest  at  the 
recollection. 

"  So  did  I,"  he  interrupted. 

"  And  I — city  flowers  seem  forced  and  not  always 
natural  to  me.  They  lack  the  peculiar  excellence  of  the 
genuine,  as  the  advertisers  say,"  she  ran  on  playfully. 

119 


Doctor   Bryson 


The  blond  German  ears  in  the  window  were  quite 
open.  The  blond  head  came  out  of  the  green.  "  My 
lady,  here  is  something  fresh  from  the  country — mi- 
gnonette." 

Mrs.  Eliot  could  not  resist  the  freshness  and  the  fra- 
grance. "  Mignonette  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  From  the 
south?" 

"  Give  me  what  you  have  there,"  said  Bryson,  in 
mild  haste.  "  Wrap  it  separately." 

"All  of  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"Why,  doctor!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Yes,  for  your  room ;  here,  give  me  some,  will 
you  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  German  girl.  He  took  a  spray 
from  the  bunch  she  held  out.  As  she  stepped  back  to 
wrap  the  order,  he  inhaled  the  odor  of  the  spray  and 
handed  it  to  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  Here's  a  flower  like  you : 
country  bred,  city  brought,  like  you." 

"  You  keep  it,  doctor.  Let  me  fasten  it  in  your 
lapel.  You  are  a  country  flower,  too,  don't  you  know, 
and  city  brought.  It  all  applies  to  you." 

"  Don't  call  me  a  flower,"  he  laughed,  as  she  stood 
close  pinning  the  mignonette  on  his  coat. 

"  Then  don't  call  me  one,"  she  retorted,  in  kind.  "  It 
is  really  very  sweet,  this  mignonette.  It  contrasts  per- 
fectly with  your  tie." 

"  But  you  are  a  flower  and  I  am  none,"  he  persisted, 
ignoring  her  postscript.  She  changed  the  subject  with 
a  sudden  repressed  exclamation. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"  I  pricked  my  finger.  I  can  hardly  see  anything, 
anyway.  Your  coat  is  such  thick  goods,"  she  went  on, 

120 


Doctor   Bryson 


hurriedly.  "  Come,  shall  we  not  go  ?  It  is  getting  so 
late." 

"  But  I  must  pay—" 

"  Oh,  no,  doctor,  it  is  not  necessitous,"  interposed 
the  blond  girl,  catching  the  last  word  as  she  came  for- 
ward. "  I  shall  charge  it." 

"  No  you  won't,"  said  Bryson,  handing  her  a  bill. 
"  Give  me  the  change,  quick,  please." 

When  they  reached  the  car  at  Wabash  Avenue  there 
were  no  seats.  It  looked  like  standing  all  the  way 
home,  and  Doctor  Bryson's  face,  took  on  a  weary  ex- 
pression as  he  crowded  forward.  A  messenger  boy 
was  sitting  between  two  ladies  in  the  front  end  of  the 
car,  and  with  him  Doctor  Bryson  negotiated  for  a  seat 
in  which  he  placed  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  You  are  resourceful, 
doctor,"  she  said,  speaking  low  as  he  bent  to  hear,  "  but 
very  extravagant,  I'm  afraid."  She  had  seen  some- 
thing slip  from  his  hand  to  that  of  the  boy  as  the  latter 
got  up. 

"  You  are  moderately  blessed  with  resources  your- 
self," he  added,  in  the  same  tone,  "  especially  when  it 
comes  to  dodging  things."  She  smiled  peculiarly — 
something  of  reproach,  possibly  gratitude,  in  her  eyes. 
Whatever  the  light  was  as  she  looked  up — her  eyes  for 
an  instant  in  his — she  put  a  little  handkerchief  to  her 
lips,  and,  with  the  composed  air  of  a  woman  protected, 
cared  for,  let  fall  her  gloved  hand,  glanced  down  at  her 
lap  full  of  flowers,  and  looked  upon  the  people  about 
her.  It  made  him  exultant  and  happy ;  so  happy  that 
he  failed  to  see  a  changed  expression  on  her  face.  But 
when  he  looked  down  at  her  again  with  that  comfort- 
able sense  of  companionship,  as  one  looks  over  all  and 

121 


Doctor   Bryson 


lets  his  eyes  rest  again  on  what  he  best  loves,  he  felt  a 
shock.  Her  nostrils  were  drawn  like  leaves  of  a  sensi- 
tive plant. 

"  You  are  faint,"  he  exclaimed,  bending  low  from 
the  strap  that  steadied  him. 

"  No,"  she  protested,  closing  her  lips  firmly. 

"  The  air  is  close — let  us  leave  the  car,"  he  suggested. 

She  started  as  if  to  assent,  then  refused.  "  I  shall 
be  all  right  in  a  moment.  Please  do  not  notice  me," 
she  half  whispered.  But  her  face  was  pale  and  it  dis- 
turbed him.  He  pulled  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket 
and  pretended  to  read.  His  field  of  vision  was  in  itself 
remarkable,  and  looking  at  the  paper  he  was  like  a  man 
with  atropine  in  his  eyes  who  sees  everything  but  that 
at  which  he  looks.  He  saw  the  faces  of  those  on  either 
side  of  her.  He  observed  narrowly  the  men  standing 
about  him.  He  shifted  to  look  at  the  passengers  across 
the  aisle;  but  in  none  of  the  faces  that  he  scrutinized 
could  he  see  anything  like  an  answer  to  his  question. 
All  were  busy  with  their  own  concerns,  and  the  strange 
look  on  her  face  startled  and  worried  him.  Distress, 
under  the  resolute  mask  she  had  set  on  her  features, 
was  evident,  and  when  after  many  moments  their  cor- 
ner was  reached  and  she  started  to  leave  the  car,  she 
dropped  her  flowers  twice  before  she  reached  the  step. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Eliot  ?  "  he  asked.  She 
stumbled  even  in  stepping  upon  the  curb.  He  quickly 
took  her  arm.  "  Was  it  the  air  made  you  faint?  Those 
cars  are  abominable,  really ;  they  are  not  fit  to  ride  in," 
he  declared,  supporting  her  as  they  walked.  In  spite 
of  her  distraction  she  was  conscious  of  his  strength 

122 


Doctor  Bryson 


and  confidence ;  he  kept  her  close  at  his  side.    As  they 
took  the  cross-street  the  wind  cut  them  like  ice. 

"  It  wasn't  the  air,"  she  shivered. 

"  Then  it's  a  chill,"  he  exclaimed,  hugging  her  arm 
closer. 

"  No.  It  is  not  a  chill — such  as  you  mean,"  she  man- 
aged to  say.  Her  face  was  deadly  white. 

"  You  can't  tell.  Let  us  hurry ;  lean  more  on  my 
arm.  Do,  now ;  I'll  trot  you  home  in  a  jiffy." 

"  Don't  let  us  go  home  quite  yet,"  she  said,  nervous- 
ly. "  This  way— " 

"  Any  way,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  into  Thirty-fifth 
Street.  "  Tell  me,  will  you  always  keep  a  veil  between 
us?  Or  is  it  my  fault  that  you  do  not  know  I  want 
your  troubles  to  be  my  troubles.  Let  me  know  every 
one  and  help  you  bear  them." 

"  No,  you  cannot.  I  bear  them  alone."  She  paused, 
and  it  was  only  after  they  had  walked  some  distance 
that  she  added,  "  I  saw  my  husband  in  the  car." 

He  took  it  with  perfect  steadiness.  "  What  of  it  ? 
Surely,  he  is  nothing  to  you  ?  " 

"Nothing!    Oh,  yes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    Do  you — " 

"  No,  no,  no." 

"  Has  he  any  claim  on  you  ?  " 

"  No,  but  a  chain.  I  wear  it,"  she  looked  fearlessly 
up  to  him,  "  wherever  I  go." 

He  had  never  seen  her  face  so.  Flushed  now,  and 
her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  burning;  her  lips  flying  into 
words  and  shutting  into  lines  he  had  never  seen  about 
her  mouth  before.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  leaving  the 
earth. 

123 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Tell  me  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean — you  surely  know  why  I  am  forced  to  re- 
fuse so  much  kindness  that  you  offer  me.  I  am  bound 
to  him.  I  never  have  had  the  courage  to  tell  you  in 
words  that  I  appreciate  all  you  try  to  do  for  me." 

"  Never  mind  that." 

"  That  I  do  love  all  the  things  that  you  try  to  give 
me;  all  the  kindnesses  you  mean  for  me;  but  that  I 
have  no  right  to  them.  I  am  bound.  And  I  tell  you 
now  because  I  know  that  I  must.  I  have  never  seen 
him  since  I  told  him,  when  Ruth  was  three  months  old, 
I  would  support  myself  and  my  child.  I  was  justified." 

"  You  need  not  explain.    I  believe  you." 

"  But  he  is  Ruth's  father.  Whatever  he  is,  he  is  her 
father." 

"  Not  if  he  has  forfeited  the  right—" 

"  In  every  way  a  man  can  forfeit  he  has  forfeited 
everything.  Yet  he  is  my  husband." 

"  But  you  are  divorced  from  him  ?  " 

"  No,  no." 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  disgrace." 

"Disgrace?" 

"  Now  I  have  told  you  why  sometimes  I  act  so  queer- 
ly.  You  are  vexed  that  I  do  not  accept  your  kindness. 
I  have  no  right  to  it.  What  street  is  this — Thirty- 
ninth?  Have  we  walked  so  far?  We  must  go  back. 
Come,  let  us  hurry." 

The  wind  stung  their  faces  as  they  turned  north. 
It  was  bitter,  and  he  kept  her  sternly  close  while  she, 
with  shrinking  face,  bent  silently  to  the  wind.  He 
tried  to  talk.  She  spoke  in  monosyllables  and  reso- 

124 


Doctor  Bryson 


lutely  refused  to  say  more.  Arriving  at  the  house,  he 
opened  the  door  with  his  pass  key.  "  Good-by,"  she 
said,  starting  up  the  stairs. 

The  pain  in  her  face  maddened  him.  "  I  wish  to 
heaven  I  had  made  you  ride  home  in  the  phaeton,"  he 
muttered,  "  then  it  wouldn't  have  happened." 

"  It  would  have  happened  sometime." 

"  That's  what  you  get  for  being  proper,"  he  ventured, 
raising  his  brows.  She  returned  his  expression  in  a 
slight  degree,  and,  smiling,  turned  again  to  ascend. 
"  Hold  on,  here's  the  mignonette,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  no,"  she  pleaded.     "  Take  it  to  the  den." 

"  Stop !  "  he  persisted,  as  she  caught  up  her  dress. 
"  This  at  least."  He  tore  the  spray  from  his  lapel,  and, 
stepping  hurriedly  to  the  banister,  caught  her  hand, 
and,  thrusting  the  blossoms  into  it,  bent  with  his  other 
hand  her  fingers  tightly  over  them.  She  ran  to  her 
room. 

"  Those  were  mighty  fine  flowers  you  brought  home 
to-night,"  said  June  at  dinner  to  the  doctor.  "  But 
every  one  of  them  was  froze  solid,"  she  added,  cloudily 
apprehensive.  "  Did  you  know,  mister,  that's  terrible 
bad  luck?" 


125 


CHAPTER     XI 

NEXT  evening  he  brought  the  eyeglasses  to  her 
room.  "  How  very  dainty  they  are,"  she  cried 
with  enthusiasm.  "  What  a  pretty  case." 

"  Let  me  try  them  on  you,"  he  said.  She  sat  quietly 
while  he  adjusted  them  upon  her  nose. 

"  How  do  they  look?  Dreadful?  "  she  asked  doubt- 
fully. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Ruth  ?  "  asked  Bryson,  drawing 
her  to  his  side  as  he  sat  down  and  her  mother  awaited 
inspection. 

"  Mamma,  I  think  they  are  beautiful,"  declared  Ruth 
gravely,  and  her  elders  laughed.  They  always  took 
the  little  chances  to  laugh  perhaps  because  they  were 
afraid  big  ones  might  never  come.  Mrs.  Eliot  picked 
up  a  book.  "  These  are  merely  for  reading  music  or 
print,"  said  he.  "  You  don't  need  them  for  distance." 

"  I  really  think  these  will  help  me.  I  can  see  ever 
so  much  better,  doctor,"  she  declared,  running  over  the 
leaves  of  the  book. 

"That  is  the  intention." 

"  I  will  pay  for  them  now,"  she  added,  turning  to 
the  dresser  for  her  purse. 

"  No."     He  was  sitting  with  Ruth  on  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  but  yes." 

"  No,  these  I  present  to  you  with  my  compliments." 

"  Indeed,  doctor,  you  must  not  embarrass  me,"  she 
126 


Doctor   Bryson 


said,  coming  to  his  side  and  taking  money  from  her 
purse.  "  I  insist  on  paying  for  these." 

"  And  I  ask  leave  to  present  them  to  you  as  a  little 
compliment.  It  gives  me  some  pleasure,  I  confess  it, 
to  provide  these  for  your  personal  comfort.  I  am  in- 
debted to  you  for  numberless  hints  that  have  con- 
tributed to  mine." 

"  All  the  same,  I  shall  pay  you,  doctor,"  she  con- 
tended, putting  money  into  his  hand. 

He  raised  his  hand  and  looked  at  the  crumpled  bill 
she  had  given  him. 

"  This  is  your  money." 

"  Yes." 

"  Money  you  earned." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  worked  for  it." 

"  Yes." 

"  May  my  hand  wither  and  my  cunning  desert  me 
when  I  take  a  dollar  of  it  for  anything  I  can  do  for  you 
or  for  Ruth."  The  dinner  bell  rang.  He  rose.  "  Don't 
look  that  way,"  he  said  sheepishly.  "  If  I  kept  your 
money  I  should  only  have  it  framed  and  hung  up  in 
my  room.  Then  people  would  ask  questions  about  it." 

He  opened  her  purse  in  her  hands  and  stuffed  the 
bill  back  into  it,  trying  lightly  to  dispel  her  gravity. 

"  You  ought  not  to  put  me  under  obligations  I  can 
never  repay,''  she  protested  seriously. 

"  Nonsense.  You've  sent  me  two  patients  within 
a  month." 

"  That  isn't  the  same  thing." 

"  No,  it's  more — a  good  deal  more.  Talk  about 
obligations ;  there  are  none  equal  to  referred  business ; 

127 


Doctor  Bryson 


and  what  about  those  handkerchiefs  you  embroidered 
at  Christmas — " 

"  That  you  never  use." 

"  They  are  too  fine  to  use.  They  cost  your  eyes 
and  fingers  too  much.  You  ought  to  have  been  asleep 
when  you  were  doing  them ;  and  whenever  I  dropped 
in  and  asked  questions  you  put  them  away.  Demure, 
weren't  you  ?  And  told  stories  about — " 

"  It's  time  for  dinner,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Come, 
Ruth,  where's  your  hair  ribbon,  child?  Hurry  down, 
doctor,  do.  Miss  June  will  be  angry." 

"  Well,  she's  not  afraid  of  me,  is  she  ?  You've  heard 
her  say  that.  Now  I'm  not  afraid  of  her  and  I'm  not 
done  yet." 

"  Please,  won't  you  go  down  now  ?  " 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  never  have  your  way,"  he 
argued  as  he  started  out.  "  Even  Ruth  pushes  me 
from  the  door,"  he  added,  for  Ruth  in  her  infantile, 
persistent  way,  was  urging  him  along.  "  Ruth,  you're 
mean  to  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  hungry,  doctor,  that's  all." 

"  Put  on  your  glasses,  at  least,"  he  insisted,  turning 
to  Mrs.  Eliot,  as  the  three  walked  downstairs;  and 
she  entered  the  dining-room  wearing  the  glasses.  And 
Mrs.  Goddard,  who  knew  her  business  perfectly,  said 
they  were  very  becoming. 

One  evening  afterward  they  were  in  the  parlor  with 
June.  Mrs.  Eliot  was  at  the  piano.  She  rose  for  a 
music  book. 

"  Do  you  remember  once  you  offered  to  give  me  a 
lesson  ?  "  said  he,  rising  from  his  chair  and  straddling 
the  piano  stool.  She  laughed. 

128 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  When  will  you  be  ready  to  begin  ?  " 

"  I'm  ready  now.  Go  ahead."  The  idea  amused 
her. 

"  Very  well,"  she  replied,  standing  at  his  shoulder. 
"  Can  you  read  notes  ?  " 

"  I  can't  do  anything." 

"  Never  mind,  we'll  begin  at  the  beginning.  Now 
this  is  the  staff.  These  we  call  lines  and  these  spaces. 
You  will  never  have  the  patience,  doctor,  to  go  through 
all  this." 

"  Is  it  all  necessary  in  order  to  learn  music  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  go  ahead  until  you  are  tired." 

They  worked,  half  serious,  half  playful,  for  an  hour. 
"  Really,  I'm  amazed,"  declared  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  not  that 
you  learn  so  fast,  but  that  you  persist  so  well." 

"  You  play  now,"  said  he,  rising. 

"What  shall  I  play?" 

"  Chopin." 

She  chose  the  Opus  37  Nocturne  in  the  major,  and 
as  it  rippled  from  her  hands  gave  it  the  atmosphere 
of  evening.  The  technic  was  as  nothing;  she  was 
mistress  of  every  dripping  chord  and  phrase  to  the 
very  last.  He  bent  forward  when  she  had  finished,, 
"  Your  fingers,"  he  mused,  "  are  like  fairies.  Did 
they  fly  so  when  they  embroidered  those  handkerchiefs 
for  me?" 

"  They  have  to  fly  when  I'm  at  work." 

"  Have  you  ever  studied  the  anatomy  of  the  hand  ?  " 
he  asked,  taking  hers  with  a  startling  and  scientific 
hardihood.  "  Yours  is  peculiar  in  this,  the  length 
of  the—" 

129 


Doctor   Bryson 


'  Oh,  I  don't  know  anything  about  anatomy,"  she 
exclaimed,  slipping  her  fingers  from  between  his. 
"  Tell  me  about  that  poor  little  boy  whose  eye  you 
took  out  last  week.  Has  he  been  back  ?  I  told  Ruth 
about  him  last  night ;  she  cried  herself  to  sleep  over  it." 

The  next  night  they  were  all  down  town  at  a  music 
recital.  Bryson,  who  came  home  late,  did  not  go. 
After  he  had  eaten  dinner  June  found  him  in  the 
parlor,  alone,  practising  finger  exercises.  With  some 
joking  from  the  evil-disposed,  as  he  called  those  that 
made  fun  of  him,  he  practised  every  evening  for  a 
week.  Yet  there  was  not  too  much  of  levity,  for  no 
one  considered  Bryson  a  subject  for  unlimited  joking. 
Even  Mrs.  Eliot  couldn't  believe  he  was  actually  in 
earnest.  He  would  strum  at  his  exercises,  wander  up 
and  down  the  parlor  for  a  while,  sit  down  again  and 
work  harder  than  ever.  On  Sunday  after  dinner  he 
looked  in  on  Mrs.  Eliot.  She  was  reading  to  Ruth. 

"  I'm  ready  for  another  lesson,"  he  said,  leaning 
against  the  door  jamb.  She  laughed  quizzically  from 
behind  her  eyeglasses.  "  You're  joking." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.     I'm  learning  music  for  a  purpose." 

"Pray  what?" 

"  I  am  constantly  consulted  on  ear  and  throat 
troubles,  and  the  treatment  of  them  is  greatly  helped 
by  an  acquaintance  with  music  and  musical  sounds. 
That's  why  I  want  it ;  simple,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Eliot  closed  her  book  and  sprang  up.  "  Is 
there  really  something  I  can  do  for  you?  Thank 
heaven !  I  shall  work  you  to  death  at  the  scales.  Come 
right  along." 

After  the  lessons  he  would  ask  her  to  play,  and 
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Doctor   Bryson 

she,  at  her  best — elate,  careful  and  as  near  happy  as 
she  ever  allowed  herself  to  get — played  laughingly, 
dramatically,  martially  or  dreamily;  whatever  the 
hour,  the  impression  of  the  day  on  her  heart,  the  mood 
of  her  listener. 

'You  are  tired  to-night,"  he  said  one  evening  when 
she  suggested  going  down  to  the  parlor  for  a  lesson, 
"  let  it  go." 

"  I'm  not  tired." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  repeated,  quietly  conclusive,  "  you 
are." 

"  Not  too  tired ;  never  too  tired  for  a  lesson,"  she 
smiled,  weariness  sweet  in  her  eyes. 

"  As  I  am  never  too  tired  for  a  patient." 

They  went  down  to  the  piano.  John  and  Bowles 
were  playing  cards  upstairs  with  Mrs.  Goddard  and 
Miss  Montague.  The  lesson  went  stupidly ;  they  gave 
over  presently  and  fell  to  talking. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  worry  about  you.  You  are 
working  too  hard,"  he  said,  clasping  his  hands  over 
his  knee  as  he  sat  on  the  piano  stool,  "  that's  what's 
the  matter.  Or  else — "  he  added,  studying  her  unre- 
servedly, "  you  are  worrying  about  something." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  into  Christian  Science,"  said 
she,  leaning  forward  and  taking  her  glasses  on  her 
finger. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  two,"  he  persisted.     "  Which?  " 

"Oh,  neither.  I'm  just  tired  to-night,  that's  all. 
By  the  way,  did  June  tell  you  Mrs.  Ledgcott  has  taken 
up  Christian  Science?  She  has;  she's  studying  to  be 
a  healer," 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  kill  yourself,"  said  he 
steadily. 

"  I  decided  some  years  ago  I  couldn't  do  that,"  she 
replied,  without  an  inflection  to  bring  out  the  double 
sense.  "  Come,  let  us  go  up  to  Mrs.  Goddard's.  You 
promised  to  join  them." 

"  Sit  down.  Why  won't  you  talk  about  your  health 
a  moment  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  to  talk  about." 

"  By  Jove,  I'm  afraid  that  will  be  so  if  you  keep 
on  in  this  way.  Did  you  note  what  I  said?  I  don't 
intend  to  let  you  kill  yourself." 

"  I  heard.     Let  us  go  and  play  cards." 

"  Marvellously  elusive,  but  let  me  tell  you — "  She 
was  standing  near;  putting  out  one  hand,  he  took 
her  wrist,  and  his  fingers,  slipping  over  her  own,  held 
them  firmly.  "  Don't  run  away.  Why?" 

"  I  must." 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say,  you  are  wonderfully  shy, 
but  you  will  not  prevent  me  one  day  with  all  your 
pretty  shyness  from  telling  you — "  She  pulled  away 
from  him.  "  Not  yet — from  telling  you  you  are  too 
dear,  too  lovely  a  woman  to  wear  yourself  out  in  this 
way."  She  struggled  to  get  loose.  He  clung  to  her 
hand,  held  it  fast  in  both  his.  Her  face  was  turned,  her 
eyes  shut,  but  she  could  not  shut  her  ears.  "  If  you 
never  give  me  a  chance  I  shall  make  a  chance  some- 
time to  tell  you  I  worship  you  from  the  soles  of  your 
feet  to  your  brown  hair." 

"  Don't,  don't." 

"Helen!" 

"Don't!" 

132 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  will.      I  love  you." 

"  Doctor,"  will  you  spare  me?  "  she  begged,  retreat- 
ing. 

"  Haven't  I  spared  you  months  and  months?  " 

"  You  must  not,  must  not,  talk  like  this,"  she  whis- 
pered in  fright,  turning  suddenly  from  him.  Her 
efforts  to  escape  only  made  the  situation  worse.  When, 
hopeless,  she  looked  into  his  face,  his  eyes  terrified  her, 
but  she  knew  she  must  look  to  be  master,  and  desper- 
ately firm,  she  struggled  in  his  arms.  There  was  a 
crash  behind  her  as  if  the  house  were  falling.  It  came 
like  an  earthquake,  and  while  she  panted  at  him  he 
stood  disarmed.  In  a  few  steps  and  fewer  seconds 
they  had  got  from  the  rear  of  the  parlor  to  the  front, 
toppled  over  the  gilt  tabouret  in  the  window,  and  June's 
one  bit  of  "  virtue,"  a  World's  Fair  dancing  girl,  had 
gone  smash  through  the  plate  glass  window. 

"  Confound  the  bric-a-brac,"  muttered  Bryson,  sup- 
pressing a  nervous  laugh.  "  I've  roused  the  house." 
While  they  stared  at  the  disaster  June  screamed  from 
the  foot  of  the  basement  stairs.  "  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he  asked,  collecting  his 
dignity  and  bending  courtier-like. 

"  It's  only  the  dancing  girl,"  cried  Mrs.  Eliot  with 
a  wabbly  note  in  her  voice. 

"  Which  one  ?  "  bawled  Bowles  from  above  stairs. 
They  heard  hurried  steps  in  the  upper  hall.  At  the 
same  moment  the  door  bell  rang  violently.  June, 
hurrying  forward  in  the  hall,  halted  appalled  by  the 
confusion.  "  You  haven't  said  you  would  forgive 
me,"  she  heard  in  low  tones  from  the  parlor.  "  Oh, 
yes,  yes.  Go  say  something  to  them."  Even  this 

133 


Doctor  Bryson 


suppressed  dialogue  did  not  reassure  June.  Again  the 
door  bell  rang  impudently. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  the  door,  June?  "  asked  Bry- 
son, appearing  unruffled  at  the  portieres. 

"Why,  lordy,  I'm  afraid  to.  What's  happened? 
You  go  yourself." 

With  an  impatient  "  Nonsense,"  Bryson,  stepping 
forward,  opened  the  hall  and  the  vestibule  doors.  A 
policeman,  confronting  him,  touched  his  hat.  The 
patrolmen  all  knew  Bryson. 

"  Anythin'  wrong  in  your  parlor,  doctor  ?  I  hap- 
pened to  be  passin'." 

"  Nothing  whatever.  I  happened  to  knock  over  the 
dancing  girl  in  the  window — " 

"  I  like  that,"  called  Bowles,  leaning  forward  from 
the  head  of  the  stairs.  "  What  did  she  ever  do  to  you  ? 
Run  him  in  anyway,  Steve.  A  man  that'll  strike  a 
defenceless  woman — " 

"  She's  out  there  in  the  snow,"  continued  the  doctor, 
evenly ;  "  if  you  can  find  her  bring  her  in — " 

"  And  receive  the  reward,"  interposed  Bowles. 

Everybody  in  the  house  was  in  the  parlor  by  that 
time.  Bryson  in  the  middle  of  the  circle  stood  perfect- 
ly collected.  The  policeman  found  the  unlucky  marble 
in  the  snow,  but  it  had  lost  an  arm,  "  to  the  glass,"  as 
Bowles  put  it,  and  June  looked  doleful.  "  You  brought 
me  that  from  the  World's  Fair,  doctor,"  she  said  re- 
gretfully. 

"  Never  mind,  I'll  bring  you  two  to-morrow.  Gen- 
tlemen, resume  your  game." 

The  policeman  promised  a  glazier  early.  They  rolled 
the  piano  up  against  the  shivered  pane  and  went  back 

134 


Doctor  Bryson 


to  the  cards.  When  the  party  broke  up  the  doctor 
managed  a  word  with  Mrs.  Eliot  at  her  door.  "  You 
bore  the  thing  bravely  well;  thank  you.  I  was 
paralyzed  when  I  saw  the  policeman.  I  was  afraid 
then  you  would  ask  for  the  fire  department.  Do  you 
forgive  me?" 

"  I  ha^e  nothing  to  forgive." 

Next  morning  everybody  remembered,  about  the 
same  time,  that  no  explanation  of  the  accident  had 
been  asked  or  offered;  but  it  seemed  late  to  start  an 
inquiry. 


135 


CHAPTER     XII 

T  WILL  not  let  you  kill  yourself  working,  that's 

-L  all.  I'll  try  not  to  smash  any  more  windows ; 
but  you  know  now,  perhaps  you  knew  before — "  he 
was  saying.  She  sat  in  the  window  seat  looking  out  on 
the  lake.  He  was  close  by  on  a  stool. 

"  I  know,  only  you  have  no  right  to  say  what  I  have 
no  right  to  hear.  I  did  not  sleep  last  night — " 

"  Nor  did  I—" 

"  Then  you  must  have  said  to  yourself  what  I  said 
to  myself — that  I  must  go  away  from  here." 

"  Well,  no,  I  didn't,  to  tell  the  truth.  It  wouldn't 
better  matters  any  to  go  away.  If  you  go  away  I 
must  follow." 

"  Don't  threaten  me." 

"  I  don't.  I  only  tell  you  what  must  be.  I  don't 
know  what  would  happen  to  me  if  I  couldn't  see  you 
any  more.  Yes,  it  has  come  to  that ;  I  can't  help  it, 
Helen.  You  might  as  well  talk  to  the  waves  out  there — 
I  have  told  myself  all  you  have  told  me  this  week.  I 
have  considered  your  position  and  mine ;  I  love  you. 
While  you  are  here  I  can  stand  it.  I  couldn't  stand  it 
if  you  were  somewhere  else,  overworking,  neglecting 
your  health ;  distressed ;  sick.  Ask  anything  but  that. 
Why  should  you  be  so  afraid  of  me  that  you  want  to 
leave?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you.  How  much,  how  much 
do  I  not  owe  to  your  generous  kindness ;  but  can  that 


Doctor   Bryson 


blind  me  to  what  is  right  and  inexorable?  I  have 
made  this  trouble  for  myself.  I  must  abide  it." 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  you  feel  so  and  talk  so 
about  divorce.  You  ought  to  be  divorced  from  that 
man  if  you  never  married  again  in  the  world.  You 
say  you  care  nothing  for  him.  You  say  you  have  put 
him  as  far  as  you  are  able  out  of  your  life.  He's  dead, 
that's  the  word  you  used.  If  he's  dead,  damn  it,  why 
not  bury  him  ?  " 

She  put  a  light  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Please  don't 
swear." 

"  It's  a  swearing  job,  as  my  father  used  to  say  when 
my  mother  reproved  him." 

"  Your  father  and  mother  are  both  dead,  you  told 
me—" 

"  Yes.     I  had  a  good  father  and  a  good  mother." 

"  Did  your  mother  believe  in  divorce  ?  " 

"  No — I  imagine  she  didn't."  He  tried  to  speak 
further,  but  she  would  not  let  him.  "  I  remember," 
she  interposed,  "  in  our  little  town  where  I  grew  up — 
it's  a  big  town  now — there  was  one  divorced  woman ; 
they  used  to  point  her  out — " 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  we  don't  live  in  that  way 
now.  If  a  man  deserts  a  woman  after  he's  lived  upon 
her  and  spent  all  her  money  she  ought  to  get  a  divorce 
and  be  done  with  it." 

"  I  am  done  with  it  long  ago.  I  am  divorced  as 
much  as  I  can  be  rightly.  If  I  should  get  a  divorce 
what  would  it  be  for  ?  To  marry  again  ;  and  while  he 
lives?  I  have  no  right  to  do  that — " 

"  The  law  says  you  have." 

She  shook  her  head.     "  Not  God's  law." 

137 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  What's  the  use  of  binding  yourself  by  a  law  no- 
body pays  any  attention  to  ?  After  all,  what  is  there  to 
it  but  what  you  refuse  to  tell  me  ?  Whether  you  could 
love  me  or  not  ?  " 

She  sprang  from  her  seat  and  wrung  her  hands. 
"  It's  not  right  to  ask."  He  turned  his  head  in  im- 
patience. 

"  Ask  me  if  I  would  care  for  you  if  you  were  sick," 
she  trembled  suddenly.  "  If  I  would  go  cold  to  keep 
you  warm,  hungry  to  feed  you,  blind  for  you  to  see. 
I  would.  Yes,  I  would.  You  have  saved  Ruth's 
sight.  I  tell  you  I  would  give  my  sight  for  you." 

"  Then  you  do  answer  me.    You  do  love  me." 

"  But  I  am  a  married  woman — I  don't  pretend  to  be 
a  good  Christian  woman.  I  don't  go  to  church,  as  I 
should ;  I  neglect  things  I  should  not  neglect.  But  I 
am  married  to  that  man,  God  help  me.  He  is  the 
father  of  my  poor  little  girl.  While  he  lives  he  is  my 
husband ;  I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  brand  myself,  or  if 
I  could  I  can't  brand  this  child  with  the  disgrace  of  a 
divorce.  Leave  that  for  the  herd  of  women  like  Mrs. 
Ledgcott — for  boarding-house  women.  I  am  not  like 
them." 

"Don't  I  know  it?" 

"  I  can't  be  like  them." 

"  That's  why  I  love  you,"  he  cried,  stretching  out 
his  hands. 

"  If  he  were  dead—" 

"  I'd  like  to  kill  him." 

She  shuddered.  "  Don't  say  that,  even  in  a  joke. 
You  say  you  care  for  me — " 

138 


Doctor   Bryson 

"  I  say  I  worship  you.  I'll  fall  to  the  ground  before 
you—" 

"  No,  no,  stop.  Let  me  speak.  If  I  had  a  right 
to  hear  what  you  say  no  prouder  woman  would 
breathe." 

"Helen!" 

"  Don't  frighten  me  out  of  my  wits,  let  me  speak 
now,  once  for  ever.  If  you  care  for  me  remember 
you  place  yourself  on  as  high  a  pedestal  as  you  place 
me.  I  must  see  you  always  high,  generous,  noble,  as 
you  have  been  in  my  sight  ever  since  the  moment  you 
turned  your  kind  eyes  on  me  and  my  child  the  day 
that  you  gave  us  a  cup  of  water." 

He  put  out  his  hands  appealingly.  She  waved  him 
away,  and  sinking  into  her  chair,  hid  her  eyes  and 
cried  desperately. 

'Sometimes  she  was  remorseful.  Something  depended 
on  her  physical  condition,  and  when  sick,  weary  with 
care,  she  would  accuse  herself.  "  If  I  had  run  from 
you  when  you  finished  with  Ruth  this  would  never 
have  happened." 

"  Say  if  you  could  have  run.  I  do  not  think  you 
could.  I  should  have  followed  you,  I  believe,  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth." 

"  But  how  could  I  even  have  attempted  it  ?  I  felt 
afraid,  oh,  even  then  I  felt  afraid,  knowing  my  posi- 
tion. Can  we  crush  gratitude  in  our  hearts?  And 
without  money  to  pay  you  at  once  and  feeling  that  I 
must  pay  along  as  I  could,  I  worried,  stayed,  like  a 
wretch." 

139 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  You  are  wild  to  speak  so.  You  are  an  angel  and  I 
love  you." 

"  I  am  a  wretch  and  I  know  it.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  me  you  would  have  loved  some  one  that  had  a 
right  to  your  love." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  love  some  one  else  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  You  deserve  happiness. 
Do  you  understand  ?  I  want  you  to  be  happy  and  I 
keep  you  from  happiness — " 

"  You  won't  forever — " 

"  God  forbid !  But  even  if  I — if  you — oh,  I  cannot 
say,  I  can  only  suffer  and  make  you  suffer,  for  I  am 
bound.  I  cannot  do  what  you  ask,  nor  be  what  you 
would  have — let  us  go  out — downstairs." 

The  situation  was  known  to  all  the  little  company. 
Neither  from  him  nor  from  her — by  slightest  act  or  in- 
tention. Not  even  from  a  hint  dropped  or  a  word 
breathed  from  one  to  another  of  the  household,  for 
none  was  ventured.  None  spoke  of  the  situation,  all 
accepted  it.  There  was  a  change  in  both — Bryson 
was  never  a  man,  even  in  his  freest  boylike  moods, 
to  suggest  familiarity;  but  after  she  from  her  place 
at  the  table  looked  at  him  no  longer  shyly  or  avoid- 
ingly,  but  calmly  and  clearly,  with  confidence  in  gaze 
and  word,  in  appeal  to  his  knowledge,  his  judgment, 
his  understanding;  when  she  let  it,  by  so  much, 
be  known  that  she  no  longer  eluded  his  look,  but 
bore  it,  she  set  him  on  a  new  plane  in  the  little 
world.  For  herself  there  was  no  more  of  shrinking 
attitude,  halting  look  or  timid  word.  There  came  to 
her  a  superbly  dainty  haughtiness,  as  of  one  who  better 
knows  herself;  who  believes  once  more  in  herself  be- 

140 


Doctor   Bryson 


cause  a  man  believes  in  her — one,  too,  before  whom 
men  lay  tribute  and  who  in  turn  by  marked  considera- 
tion lays  tribute  before  her.  She  was  no  longer  a 
woman  in  exile,  she  was  a  woman  enthroned ;  and  her 
sovereignty,  pouring  loveliness  into  a  cup  already  full, 
made  of  it  a  cup  running  over,  and  he  drank  of  her 
deeper  and  deeper. 

In  another  way  she  changed.  She  no  longer  framed 
excuses  to  avoid  his  invitations  to  drive  and  to  go. 
When  he  asked  she  went.  She  was  only  firm  that  the 
forms  be  all  observed — that  if  he  took  her  in  the  stan- 
hope Ruth  should  be  tucked  in,  or  in  the  trap  that 
Mrs.  Goddard  be  taken  or  Miss  Montague.  She  no 
longer  sought  to  avoid  being  seen  with  him  in  public. 
If  he  asked  her  to  go  to  the  play  or  to  a  concert,  or 
the  opera,  he  provided  tickets  for  a  party  and  she 
made  one.  Ruth  he  would  not  let  go  down  town  at 
night  on  account  of  her  eyes,  for  he  never  lost  care  of 
them,  and  there  were  for  him  spectres  of  consequences 
from  the  operation  that  no  one  else  knew  of.  If  no 
others  were  going,  and  he  and  Helen  Eliot  wanted  to 
go,  June  was  dragged  along,  and  June  sat  loyally  with 
her  bad  eye  on  their  near  side,  so  there  could  be  no 
thought  of  offensive  espionage,  though  all  that  was  of 
her  own  imagination.  There  was  an  espionage  in  the 
dark  eyes  of  Helen,  a  sensitiveness  to  all  that  was  fit- 
ting so  exquisite  that  none  greater  and  none  other  was 
needed;  nor  could  another  where  she  reigned  have 
been  exercised. 

Still  another  change  took  place.  She  became  ad- 
viser to  him,  instead  of  the  old  way  in  which  he  had 
made  himself  adviser  to  her.  In  business  matters  he 

141 


Doctor  Bryson 

asked  her  judgment,  told  her  his  plans,  and  hopes  and 
disappointments  and  triumphs,  and  she  softened  his 
bitterness  and  divided  his  plans  and  hopes  and  disap- 
pointments, and  doubled  his  satisfactions.  These 
greater,  more  vital  changes  paved  the  way  for  lesser 
ones;  at  least  for  those  which,  if  equally  significant, 
were  slighter.  Certain  ties  he  had  affected  were  laid 
by;  certain  light  suits  for  which  he  had  a  weakness 
were  discarded,  and  his  gloves  and  hats  fell  into  a  tone 
that  was  darker  and  quieter.  He  became  marked  for 
a  man  of  taste  who,  without  apparent  effort,  stood  well 
dressed.  Indeed,  there  was  no  effort  beyond  the  effort 
to  read  the  eyes  that  smiled  upward  on  a  success,  or 
the  brows  that  just  rose  into  question  at  a  note  marring 
the  standard  she  set  for  him. 

Naturally  graceful  and  gracious  in  manner,  he  be- 
came in  the  trifle  of  apparel  precise.  He  learned 
aptly  from  her  those  points  that  a  man  should  learn 
from  a  woman;  for  if  he  be  born  with  such  niceties 
their  manifestation  will  so  encroach  on  the  preroga- 
tives of  her  sex  that  men  may  question  his  own. 

Together  with  all  this  came  a  new  prosperity  and 
graver  responsibilities  in  his  practice,  and  these,  he 
insisted,  were  due  partly  to  her.  In  the  morning,  if 
she  would  not  go  down  with  him,  he  presented  him- 
self to  her  to  say  good-by.  If  for  that  day  a  major 
operation  was  on  hand  he  would  tell  her  and  she  would 
ask,  smiling,  "How  are  your  nerves  ?  " 

Then  he  would  take  between  the  thumb  and  fore- 
finger of  either  hand  a  needle,  and  extending  his  arms, 
bring  the  points  together  and  hold  them  dead  against 
each  other  until  she  said  "  Enough."  Or  he  would 

142 


Doctor   Bryson 


take  the  water  bottle  and  a  glass  and  pour  until  the 
water,  heaped  upon  the  rim,  shivered  brimming.  But 
while  he  held  it  no  drop  spilt  unless,  perhaps,  she  put 
out  her  own  hand  to  take  it  to  test  her  nerves.  If 
she  did  so,  when  her  ringers  touched  his,  the  water 
shook  and  broke  over  as  tears  well  from  full  eyes. 
Once  when  she  did  hold  the  full  glass  triumphantly 
he  cried  "  Boo !  "  and  the  glass  slipped  from  her  fingers 
and  crashed  to  the  floor.  With  a  boy's  laugh  he  caught 
her  hands  in  his,  and  stooping,  lightning-like,  kissed 
her  fingers.  The  offended  hands  flew  behind  her  back. 

"  Oh — you  have  abundance  of  nerve  this  morning, 
sir,"  she  exclaimed,  flushing. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  June,  peering 
cloudily  in  from  the  hall  upon  her  proteges. 

"  More  of  your  cut  glass,"  replied  the  doctor,  stoop- 
ing to  help  Mrs.  Eliot  pick  up  the  pieces.  "  She  will 
break  everything  in  your  house." 

"  It  was  your  fault,"  retorted  Mrs.  Eliot,  pointedly. 

"  Well,  the  Lord  knows  where  the  money  is  coming 
from  to  buy  more !  "  grumbled  June,  passing  on. 

"  What  does  she  mean  ?  "  asked  Bryson. 

"  There's  something  the  matter,"  replied  Mrs.  Eliot 
in  a  half  whisper.  "  I  don't  know  what.  June  has 
been  cross  for  a  week.  I'm  afraid  she's  been  running 
behind  in  her  money  matters.  Now  will  you  please 
go  about  your  business  ?  " 

When  Bryson  returned  to  his  room  June  was  in  it 
picking  up.  "  What's  the  matter  with  you,  June,"  he 
demanded.  "  You're  getting  as  cross  as  a  bear." 

"  I  guess  you'd  get  cross,"  she  answered,  "if  things 
went  with  you  the  way  they  do  with  me.  You  can  be 

143 


Doctor   Bryson 


cross  when  you  want  to,  so  can  Mr.  Bowles,  so  can 
everybody  else.  But  if  I  give  out  everybody  says  I'm 
a  bear." 

"  Who  said  you  were  a  bear?  " 

"  You  did."' 

"  Look  here,  what's  the  matter  ?  Come,  out  with  it, 
June."  It  took  urging  to  make  her  speak,  for  June 
was  not  what  gamesters  call  a  "  squealer."  Nothing 
less  than  absolute  insolvency  forced  from  her  the 
reluctant  admission  that  she  was  behind  in  her  bills. 
Doctor  Bryson  questioned  her  sharply  for  a  few 
minutes.  June  went  all  to  pieces  and  couldn't  then 
remember  head  or  tail  of  her  liabilities.  The  doctor 
finally  took  out  a  pencil,  picked  up  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  tried  to  make  a  schedule. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  how  much  do  you  owe  your 
grocer  ?  " 

"  I  get  my  meats  and  groceries  all  together." 

"Well,  how  much?" 

"  I  don't  know ;   it's  a  pile." 

"A  hundred  dollars?" 

"  Law  sakes,  it's  more  than  that." 

"Two  hundred?" 

"  I  d'  know." 

"Five  hundred?" 

"  My  grief,  no.  Do  you  think  I'm  running  the 
Auditorium?" 

"  Say  two  hundred  and  fifty  then." 

"  It  ain't  that  much."  The  doctor  put  down  two 
hundred  and  fifty. 

"  How  much  for  rent  ?  " 

"  A  hundred  and  ninety  dollars." 
144 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Two  months,  all  right.     What  else?  " 

"  There's  a  coal  bill—" 

"  How  much  ?    A  hundred  dollars  ?  " 

"  No-o-o,"  protested  June,  indignantly. 

"Well,  how  much?" 

"  It's  some'eres  around  ninety-five  dollars." 

"Humph.     What  else?" 

"  Ice  cream." 

"How  much?" 

"  A  hundred  and  ten  dollars." 

"  One  hundred  and  ten  dollars !  For  heaven's  sake ! 
How  much  a  day  does  it  cost  you  for  ice  cream?  " 

"  I  d'n'  know." 

"  How  long  do  you  let  your  ice  cream  bills  run — " 

"  Just  as  long  as  I  can ;  it's  a  trust,  you  know." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  a  trust.  Why,  June,  hang  it, 
you're  'busted.'  What  else  is  there?"  June  meditated 
through  her  liquid  eye. 

"  There's  a  bill  of  sixty-eight  dollars  for  beer  and 
things." 

"Beer?  Sixty-eight  dollars!  Why,  heavens  and 
earth,  who  has  drunk  sixty-eight  dollars'  worth  of  beer 
here  ?  Is  this  a  blind  pig  ?  I  never  saw  a  dozen  bottles 
of  beer  in  this  house  at  once  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  it's  charged  to  me." 

"  Charged  to  you ! "  echoed  the  doctor,  scornfully. 
"  Go  get  your  bill." 

She  shuffled  after  it,  Bryson  stalking  behind  her, 
down  into  the  dining-room.  June  rummaged  the  gravy 
boats  and  the  soup  tureens  in  the  china  closet,  the 
cracker  jars  on  the  sideboard,  and  at  last  from  a  dis- 
mantled chafing  dish  produced  several  bills  and  in- 

145 


Doctor  Bryson 


spected   them   closely.      "  There,"   said  she,  putting 
one  at  him. 

"  This  is  only  six  dollars  and  eighty  cents,"  remarked 
Bryson. 

"  Go  'way ! "  exclaimed  June,  looking  at  the  figures 
incredulously.  Then  she  looked  foolish  and  grinned. 
The  doctor  eyed  her  coldly.  "  June,  you're  the  biggest 
idiot  on  earth." 

"Is  that  all  it  is?" 

"  Yes,  that's  all  it  is." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,  here's  one  that's  big  enough," 
she  snapped,  putting  another  at  him. 

"What's  this  for?" 

"  I  didn't  speak  about  it  upstairs  because  I  was 
afraid  to.  It  came  this  morning  and  I  couldn't  eat  a 
bite  of  breakfast  after  I  saw  it." 

"  Why,  this  is  for  beer  and  every  other  old  thing — " 
Bryson  devoured  the  total  at  one  fell  glance.  It  was 
a  big  bill  from  the  same  firm — a  hundred  and  twelve 
dollars.  There  was  beer,  there  was  champagne,  there 
were  liqueurs  on  it,  cigars,  cocktails  in  cases.  The  items 
would  stock  a  saloon.  Bryson  stared  at  the  bill,  stared 
at  his  landlady,  and  at  the  bill  again — and  started. 

"  Why,  you — see  here,  you  goose,  this  isn't  your  bill 
at  all— " 

"It  ain't?" 

"  If  you  wouldn't  drive  a  man  to  drink !  This  bill 
is  for  James  Battershaw,  814  Grant  Avenue."  June 
screamed.  "  James  may  be  a  tank,"  continued  the 
doctor.  "  It  looks  as  if  he  were,  but  that's  no  reason 
why  you  should  pay  his  bills." 

146 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Well,  what  did  they  send  it  to  me  for?  "  demanded 
June  angrily. 

"  Oh,"  Bryson  shook  his  head  and  ground  his  teeth, 
"  do  you  suppose  you  have  to  pay  all  the  bills  sent 
you  by  mistake  ?  " 

"  Lord,  heavens,  don't  take  my  head  off !  I  didn't 
see  who  the  old  bill  was  billed  to,  did  I  ?  " 

"  Come  upstairs — no — sit  right  down  here."  Bryson 
took  from  his  pocket  a  small  book.  He  had  his  pen 
in  his  hand  and  drew  a  check  for  six  hundred  dollars, 
payable  to  the  order  of  the  biggest  fool  in  Chicago,  as 
June  confidentially  told  Mrs.  Eliot  that  night. 

"  Now  use  a  little  horse  sense  and  keep  even — pay 
cash  for  what  you  buy.  Don't  run  bills.  If  you 
haven't  sense  enough  to  know  what  bills  belong  to 
you,  don't  run  any,  see  ? 

"  He's  the  biggest  hearted  man  in  Chicago,"  mut- 
tered June,  telling  Mrs.  Eliot  about  it.  Bryson  was 
down  town  at  a  club  meeting  that  evening.  He  came 
home  late.  June  and  Mrs.  Eliot,  sitting  before  her 
grate,  were  just  parting  for  the  night;  he  came  in, 
drew  a  chair  to  the  fire  and  sat  down. 

"  June,  make  me  a  hot  lemonade,  will  you  ?  "  said 
he.  "  I  got  chilled  in  the  car." 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  meeting?"  asked  Mrs. 
Eliot  as  June  started  for  the  kitchen. 

"  So,  so.  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  is  Eliot  ?  I 
believe  I  was  introduced  to  him  to-night." 

She  was  not  able  to  speak  for  a  minute.  "  What 
makes  you  think  so?  What  did  he  want?" 

"  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  is  he  ?  Have  you  a 
photograph  of  him  ?  " 

147 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  have  one  picture  of  him,"  she  answered  after  a 
pause,  "  an  ivorytype ;  but  over  the  face  of  it  I  have 
cemented  a  piece  of  black  silk,  and  I  keep  it  for  Ruth. 
Some  day  she  may  want  to  see  her  father's  face. 
Don't  ask  me  to  try  to  describe  him.  For  my  part  I 
do  not  allow  myself  even  to  think  of  him." 

"  This  man  is  baldish  and  slowish  in  his  manner. 
Cheekbones  are  high,  and  he  has  a  plump  face  and 
a  lying  kind  of  a  laugh,  and  his  name,  well,  there's 
his  card :  Gregory  B.  Eliot." 

She  grew  pale.  "  What  can  he  want  with  you  ? 
What  can  he  want?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine.  He  doesn't  know  me  from 
Adam." 

"  Don't  be  sure.  He  has  a  petty  cunning.  He  has 
seen  us  somewhere  together.  What  can  he  want?" 
She  was  much  disturbed. 

"  Never  mind  what  it  is,  I  don't  care,"  said  he.  "  He 
said  he  wanted  to  call  on  me  sometime  to-morrow. 
An  insurance  man,  McKellor,  introduced  him  in  the 
smoking-room  at  the  Athletic  Club.  Dresses  pretty 
well." 

"  He  always  did,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  I  told  him  to  come  at  twelve  o'clock  or  three. 
That's  all  the  talk  we  had.  Possibly  I  was  a  little  stiff 
with  him.  June,  you're  an  angel,"  he  exclaimed,  tak- 
ing the  pitcher  and  a  cup  from  the  tray. 

"  This  morning  I  was  the  biggest  fool  on  earth." 

"  You  are  yet,  or  you  wouldn't  be  down  in  the 
kitchen  at  twelve  o'clock  making  me  hot  lemonade," 
said  Bryson  conclusively,  as  he  filled  a  cup  for  Mrs. 
Eliot. 

148 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  No,  thank  you." 

"June?" 

"  No." 

"  Oh,  come,  I'm  not  going  to  drink  all  alone.  You 
must  drink  a  little,  Mrs.  Eliot." 

"  Just  a  drop  then." 

"You'd  both  better  drink  with  me  to-night,"  he 
laughed,  "  I  may  be  past  drinking  this  time  to-morrow 
night." 


149 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  ELIOT  was  first  in  the  dining-room  next 
morning,  and  she  looked  pleased  when  Doctor 
Bryson  came  next. 

"  You've  been  worrying,"  said  he,  sprinkling  sugar 
on  his  berries.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I've  worried  all  night  about  his  asking  to  see  you. 
There's  some  mischief  brewing  or  he  would  not  be 
calling  on  you.  He  is  plausible — perhaps  dangerous. 
I  want  to  ask  you  some  favors.  I,  who  am  always 
beggar  to  you  and  give  you  nothing  in  return — " 

"  You  give  me  all  that  makes  life  worth  living — " 

"  Don't  say  that." 

"  Hope,  friendship,  confidence,  and  sometimes  love. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  Love." 

"  Doctor,"  she  exclaimed,  in  desperation,  "  the  whole 
house  will  hear  you." 

"  And  I  don't  care  a  rap  for  this  man  or  what  he 
may  say  about  my  acquaintance  with  you." 

"  But  promise  me  something.  I  must  talk  quickly 
before  anybody  comes.  Promise  me  you  won't  have 
any  angry  words ;  no  trouble  of  any  kind — " 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  hurt  him  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  perverse.  You  know  what  I  want.  But 
there's  something  more,  and  I  don't  know — this  is  what 
I  have  been  worrying  about." 

"  Don't  worry ;  tell  me." 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  You  won't  be  angry,  will  you  ?  " 

"With  you?" 

"  Ah !  with  me."  She  looked  intently  at  him.  "You 
may  be  sometime.  No  matter,  I  am  blue  this  morning. 
He  may  say  something  about  a  divorce.  He  is  capable 
of  baseness.  I  want  you  to  say  frankly  you  have  be- 
friended me  as  well  as  my  child;  and  that  you  know 
that  I  will  neither  institute  nor  ever  consent  to  a  di- 
vorce. Not  alone  on  my  account,  but  on  account  of 
Ruth,  who  would  have  the  disgrace  upon  her.  Tell 
him  I  will  support  her,  as  I  have  done  every  day  since 
she  was  born — " 

He  muttered  an  execration. 

"  But  if  he  tries  to  drag  me  into  divorce  I  will  fight 
him.  I  will  tell  my  story  to  the  court.  I  will  leave 
nothing  undone  to  pillory  him  if  he  forces  me  to  it. 
Can  you  bring  yourself  to  say  that  for  me  to  him?  " 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  want  angry  words." 

"  Don't  lower  yourself  to  his  level,  doctor,"  she  an- 
swered, with  dignity.  "  That  is  what  I  meant.  If  I  did 
not  know  you  would  not  I  should  have  said  nothing. 
Remember,  if  you  speak,  you  speak  for  me;  and  you 
do  it  because  I  am  friendless  and  you  are  generous," 
she  concluded,  unsteadily,  ringing  for  his  breakfast. 

"How  can  that  be?" 

"What?" 

"  That  you  are  friendless  and  I  am  generous?  " 

She  paid  him  with  a  look.  "  I  shouldn't  have  said 
so,  should  I?  I  am  not  friendless.  And  do  you 
know  what  I  pray  for  every  night,"  she  asked,  leaning 
forward  and  speaking  low,  "  I  pray  for  your  success 


Doctor  Bryson 


and  happiness,  and  most  of  all — that  no  evil  may  befall 
you  through  me,  doctor." 

"  I  will  take  everything,  whatever  befalls  me  through 
you,  good  or  evil — all." 

"  I  don't  want  anything  but  good  to  befall  you  from 
anybody.  June  said  last  night  you  were  the  best  man 
in  the  world,"  she  added  quizzically. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  I  said,"  her  voice  dropped  to  a 
murmur,  "  ask  me  what  I  thought." 

"Tell  me!" 

"  Good-by." 

"  Why,  you're  going  to  eat  your  breakfast  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  After  you  come  back  to-night. 
I  can't  eat  now." 

"  See  here,  that  won't  do,"  he  exclaimed,  half  rising 
just  as  June  came  behind  the  maid  from  the  kitchen. 
"  You  must  eat.  Take  a  roll  and  coffee  at  least.  June, 
see  to  it,"  scowled  the  doctor.  "  No  nonsense." 

Mrs.  Eliot  wrung  her  hands  at  him.  "  Very  well, 
very  well !  only  don't  get  excited,  please." 

When  Bryson  had  gone  Mrs.  Eliot  went  upstairs,  put 
on  her  hat,  walked  over  to  the  drug  store  and  by  tele- 
phone cancelled  her  lessons  for  the  day.  With  the 
income  always  so  close  to  the  outgo  it  was  a  heart- 
breaking thing  to  do ;  but  to-day,  with  her  head  split- 
ting, she  knew  she  could  not  teach.  Getting  home,  she 
began  sewing  on  a  dress  for  Ruth.  After  breakfast 
June  went  up  to  her  room  and  would  not  be  corriforted 
till  she  was  made  partner  in  the  dreadful  anxiety. 
When  June  started  downstairs  to  prepare  luncheon  a 
messenger  rang  the  bell.  He  brought  a  note  from  Doc- 

152 


Doctor  Bryson 


tor  Bryson  to  June  scratched  pn  a  prescription  blank. 
"  Go  to  the  matinee  this  afternoon."  The  tickets  were 
inclosed.  June  ran  upstairs,  her  eyes  bulging  with  joy. 
"Look  here;  matinee  tickets  for  you  and  me  and 
Ruth." 

Mrs.  Eliot  looked  surprised  and  pleased,  but  her 
anxious  expression  returned.  "  You  take  Ruth,  June. 
1  can't  go,"  she  pleaded,  her  fingers  flying  with  a 
needle. 

"  Can't  ?  Well,  I  guess  you  can.  You've  got  to. 
Put  away  that  dress  and  get  into  your  gown  as  quick 
as  the  Lord  will  let  you." 

"  June,  I  must  finish  this  to-day." 

"  I'll  help  you  finish  it  to-night.  Stop  objecting  and 
get  dressed.  He'll  be  mad  as  a  hatter  if  I  go  and  you 
don't;  and  you  can  just  come  along.  Here,  Ruth;  I'll 
dress  you." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Mrs.  Eliot  came  down 
ready  to  start,  Mrs.  Goddard  and  June  and  Ruth  were 
at  luncheon. 

"  Wish  I  could  make  a  picture  of  myself  as  quick  as 
that  woman  can,"  exclaimed  June  to  Mrs.  Goddard 
as  Mrs.  Eliot  took  her  seat.  "  Just  look  at  her.  Why, 
she  looks  so  fresh  it's  scandalous."  The  door  bell  rang. 
"  What  on  earth's  that?  " 

It  was  another  messenger;  another  note.  This  one 
for  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  Nobody  here  at  twelve  o'clock.  It  is  one  and  I  am 
off  for  lunch.  I  forgot  to  send  June  a  railway  ticket. 
Please  hand  her  this.  H.  E.  B." 

On  the  way  to  the  train  Mrs.  Eliot  handed  the  com- 
mutation ticket  to  June.  "  He  sent  it  down,"  she  said. 

153 


"  Was  that  what  he  sent  ?  "  cried  June.  "  Spends 
fifty  cents  on  a  messenger  to  save  us  twenty-five  cents 
car  fare  and  then  calls  me  a  financial  idiot.  Some  men 
have  a  wonderful  opinion  of  themselves." 

The  play  was  "  Secret  Service,"  and  the  player 
William  Gillette,  and  the  sweep  of  the  action  left  no 
interval  for  additional  worry  even  between  acts,  for 
the  spell  of  the  actor  bridged  over  the  wait.  As  they 
crushed  out  of  the  narrow  lobby  after  the  performance 
a  colored  boy  elbowed  his  way  to  Mrs.  Eliot  and 
touched  his  hat.  It  was  Jim. 

"  Doctor  Bryson  is  just  around  the  corner  on  La 
Salle  Street,  waiting  in  the  coupe." 

It  was  raining.  Jim  had  umbrellas,  and  the  doctor 
himself  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  as  they  approached. 
His  face  was  bright.  Mrs.  Eliot  looked  narrowly  at 
him. 

"  Did  he  come,  doctor  ?  "  she  asked  as  they  rolled 
through  the  gloom  past  the  City  Hall. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  told  June  about  it." 

"  Oh,  did  you,"  said  the  doctor,  unbuttoning  his  se- 
cretiveness.  "  By  Jove,"  he  added,  "  he  and  I  had  a 
lively  time." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eliot,  feverishly. 

"  You  told  me  not  to  have  any  angry  words  with 
him." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  he  struck  me." 

"  Struck  you  ? "  echoed  both  women  together. 
"What  for?"  demanded  June,  furiously. 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty." 

154 


Doctor   Bryson 


"What?" 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty.  He  wanted  to  borrow 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  That's  true,  on  my 
honor."  June  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  them, 
twinkling. 

"But  was  that  all?"  asked  Mrs.  Eliot,  faintly. 

"  Who  is  it,  mamma  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  Somebody  you  don't  know,  dear." 

"  That  was  practically  all." 

"Of  course  you  didn't  let  him  have  it?" 

"  No.  But  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  didn't  feel  mean  in 
refusing  him." 

"  I'm  not  surprised.  He  has  a  gift  of  talking  money 
out  of  people,"  she  said,  taking  a  deep  breath.  "  I 
can't  think  it's  over." 

"  Neither  can  I,"  returned  Bryson,  still  laughing. 
"  I  didn't  tell  you  how  I  was  stewing  over  it  all  last 
night :  the  thing  was  so  loaded  with  possibilities.  But 
of  all  the  proposals  I  expected  to  receive,  the  last 
was  an  invitation  to  buy  stock.  It  was  a  good  story — 
a  mining  proposition — strictly  regular — would  sell 
some  shares.  But  I  didn't  want  to  buy.  Then  he 
wanted  to  leave  ten  thousand  shares  with  me  to  secure 
a  temporary  advance.  Oh,  these  people  that  are  trying 
to  get  something  out  of  nothing.  However,  all's  well 
that  ends  well.  I  wouldn't  lose  any  more  sleep  over 
that  personage.  The  question  is — what  are  we  going 
to  have  for  dinner  to-night  ?  " 

It  was  no  trick  to  enliven  June,  but  Doctor  Bryson 
succeeded  even  in  pulling  Mrs.  Eliot  out  of  her  de- 
spondency by  sheer  force  of  his  own  humor.  Before 
they  reached  the  boulevard  he  had  tapped,  for  their 

155 


diversion,  a  store  of  dramatic  incidents  from  the  Col- 
lege grind,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  home  he  had 
Ruth  wide-eyed  on  his  lap,  June  breathless  at  his  side, 
and  Mrs.  Eliot  in  a  state  of  diverted  admiration. 

John  Allison  happened  to  be  in  New  York  and  Miss 
Montague  in  London,  but  that  evening  they  built  a 
roaring  big  fire  in  the  den.  Mrs.  Goddard,  Mrs.  Eliot, 
June  and  Ruth  and  the  doctor  with  common  cheer  de- 
fied the  chill  and  the  wet  together.  By  a  serious  stretch 
of  the  Eliot  regulations  Ruth  was  allowed  to  sit  up  till 
nearly  ten  o'clock ;  or  rather,  they  were  telling  stories 
so  fast  that  nobody  noticed  her.  When  June  walked 
downstairs,  Ruth  went  to  undress,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes ran  back,  all  curly-haired  and  sleepy-eyed,  in  her 
night  gown,  to  kiss  everybody  by-bye.  Then,  like  a 
little  pink  Miss  Netticoat,  leaving  a  shine  in  every 
heart  behind,  she  shuffled  after  her  mother  to  be  tucked 
into  bed. 

June  returned  with  a  chafing  dish,  a  maid,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  four  bottles  of  beer,  a  jar  of  stuffed  mangoes 
and  an  alarming  portion  of  cheese.  The  maid  they 
dismantled  and  dismissed.  Mrs.  Eliot,  rigged  in  an 
apron  flowing  with  ruffles,  and  a  cap  no  more  than  a 
cobweb,  took  command.  Bryson  at  the  grate  struggled 
with  the  toast.  Mrs.  Goddard,  to  pay  her  way,  sat 
back  and  told  stories.  June  opened  the  beer  and  Mrs. 
Eliot  sliced  cheese  into  the  chafing  dish.  The  rarebit 
was  "  on." 

It  was  a  good  company.  Three  women,  each  of  them 
a  marked  type  in  the  wonderful  gallery  of  American 
women,  and  one  strong,  successful,  quick-witted  Amer- 
ican man.  The  supper  over,  June,  with  a  house- 

156 


Doctor   Bryson 


keeper's  iconoclasm,  gathered  up  the  spoil.  Mrs.  God- 
dard  went  upstairs  for  her  beauty  sleep,  and  Mrs.  Eliot 
left  for  her  room.  Bryson,  buried  in  a  chair,  lingered 
in  front  of  the  dying  fire. 

A  light  step  coming  back  aroused  him. 

"  I  forgot  to  thank  you  for  the  entertainment  this 
afternoon — " 

"  Oh,  is  it  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  attempting  to  rise. 
Standing  just  at  his  side,  she  put  a  hand  lightly  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Sit  still—" 

"  But  you  sit,  too." 

"  No.  I  am  going  right  to  bed.  I  enjoyed  the  play 
so  much.  It  is  such  a  great  play  for  action  and  in- 
genuity— " 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  do." 

"  I  was  thinking,  just  now,  you  do  me  so  many 
kindnesses  that  I  am  growing  like  a  spoiled  child  who 
accepts  favors  and  forgets  the  thanks.'* 

"  Tell  me  about  the  play."  The  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  crept  stealthily  over  to  his  shoulder  where  hers, 
timid  as  hares,  rested.  He  sought  neither  to  grasp  nor 
detain  them.  If  he  had,  there  would  have  been  excuse 
to  draw  them  away.  Instead,  barely  touching  her  fin- 
gers at  first,  while  she  talked,  he  gradually  slipped  his 
hand  under  her  own. 

"  You  are  very,  very  quiet  in  your  chair,  doctor,"  she 
said,  after  she  had  finished  telling  about  "  Secret 
Service,"  "  but  your  head  is  very,  very  busy,  do  you 
know  that  ? "  she  asked,  bending  a  little  above  him. 

"Why  so?" 

"  You  knew  I  wouldn't  let  you  take  my  hand,  and 
yet  you  have  made  me  take  yours  or  seem  positively 

157 


Doctor   Bryson 


mean.  But  do  you  know  I  didn't  venture  back  here  to 
hold  your  hand.  I  could  have  done  that  all  the  evening 
while  the  others  were  here." 

"  That  would  have  been  dangerous,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  nearly  so  dangerous  as  this.  I  know  I  am  on 
thin  ice;  I  do  not  deceive  myself  even  if  I  appear  to. 
But  knowing  it  is  my  safety,  for  it  makes  me  have  care. 
And  though  you  are  a  man,  you  are  a  brave  and  gener- 
ous one.  I  dare  even  tell  you  of  it." 

"  Sit  down ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  I  will  stand." 

"  You  must  sit  a  moment.  Sit  here  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair." 

"  This  stool  will  do,"  she  said,  drawing  one  up  be- 
side him.  "  Go  on.  Just  a  minute,  remember." 

"  I've  been  sitting  here  trying  to  think — I've  been 
all  day  trying  to  think — why  you  will  remain  tied  to 
that  man.  Why  you  won't  get  a  divorce  and  be  free 
and  be  happy  and  make  me  happy." 

"  You  include  too  much,  doctor."  She  turned  and 
faced  him.  "  Do  you  think  I  don't  want  to  be  happy  ? 
or  don't  want  you  to  be  ?  You  deserve  to  be ;  I  don't. 
But  no  good  ever  can  or  ever  will  come  on  this  earth 
from  doing  wrong.  To  divorce  myself  from  him  more 
than  I  am  divorced,  to  divorce  myself  to  marry  again 
while  I  have  a  husband  living  would  be  a  sin :  a  shame 
and  disgrace  to  me  and  to  the  man  I  should  marry. 
But  even  if  I  could  bear  to  do  that  for  myself  and  for 
him,  and  soothe  my  conscience  to  sleep  under  it — how 
could  I  bear  to  disgrace  Ruth — my  little  innocent  girl  ? 
And  if  she  grew  up  and  went  to  the  divorce  court  her- 
self— or  worse — what  could  I  say?  Do  I  not  owe 

158 


Doctor  Bryson 


more  to  this  unfortunate  child  than  to  myself?  It 
isn't  her  wish  that  she  is  here.  Her  father  is  what  he 
is.  But  if  she  can  say  her  mother  was  all  she  ought 
to  have  been,  can  she  not  still  hold  up  her  head  ?  " 

"  You  start  by  assuming  divorce  is  wrong ;  a  sin,  a 
disgrace.  If  it  is,  why  do  our  laws  sanction  it,  our 
churches  sanction  it — " 

"  How  can  I  answer  for  all  the  sins  that  hide  behind 
courts  and  churches  ?  Don't  ask  me  to  do  that — I  have 
no  church.  I  have  only  one  guide — my  conscience; 
only  one  life  to  look  to,  only  one  word  to  listen  to — 
Christ's.  Don't  you  suppose  I  have  cast  this  over  a 
thousand  times  since  the  man  I  married  proved  utterly 
unworthy,  and  I  found  my  baby  in  my  arms  and  had 
to  get  up  with  my  head  swimming  with  weakness  to 
earn  money  to  feed  her  ?  " 

He  started  from  his  chair.  "  Don't  speak  of  it.  I 
can't  stand  that — I  can't  stand  it." 

"  Never  mind.  I've  taken  care  of  her  ever  since. 
You  are  the  first  that  ever  shared  in  doing  it." 

"  I  never  have  shared.    You  never  would  let  me." 

"  You  have,  in  a  hundred  ways.  You  are  the  first  I 
ever  allowed  to  share — " 

"  Helen,  could  you  altogether  help  yourself  ? "  he 
asked,  bending  over  her. 

She  returned  his  look  unflinchingly.  "  No.  I  don't 
pretend  to  sanctity.  I'm  a  woman;  I  kiss  the  hand 
that's  kind  to  me  and  mine.  You  saved  me  a  greater 
sorrow  than  my  wretched  marriage — Ruth's  blindness. 
I  wish  she  were  a  boy,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  oh,  how  I 
wish  she  were  a  boy !  God  help  her,  poor  little  thing : 

159 


Doctor   Bryson 


no  father,  no  home.  I  think  so  often  of  what  you  said 
over  poor  Johnnie  Ledgcott  that  night." 

He  sat  back  and  looked  into  the  fire.  "  Did  Eliot," 
he  asked,  mildly,  "  ever  complain  of  his  heart  ?  " 

"No;  why?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  But  you  have  reason  for  asking?'* 

"  Nothing,  only  I  was  naturally  studying  him,"  he 
shifted  his  long  legs.  "  You  wouldn't  blame  me  for 
that—" 

"  No,  no." 

"  He  looked  to  me  like  a  man  with  a  poor  heart  ac- 
tion." 

"How  can  you  tell?" 

"  His  eyes  are  bright  and  prominent  like  those  whose 
hearts  are  fatty.  Possibly  I  deceive  myself." 

"  You  will  never  quite  understand  how  I  could  have 
made  such  a  horrible  mistake,"  she  said,  abruptly. 
"  But  if  you  knew  his  mother  it  would  help  you  to. 
Her  husband  was  a  great  college  professor;  we  put 
halos  around  such  men  in  our  family  when  I  was  a  girl. 
His  mother  threw  a  wicked  glamour  over  me  because 
my  father  was  wealthy.  She  was  a  big,  brawny  woman, 
great  in  public  movements  and  such  things.  My 
mother  was  dead,  I  was  a  poor  little  conceited  innocent 
of  eighteen,  and  it's  all  past  and  done,  and  it  is  after 
twelve  o'clock  and  I  am  here,  where  I  have  no  business 
to  be  and  know  it — " 

"  Don't  fly  away.  Tell  me — I'm  not  a  heathen,  but 
I  don't  pretend  to  be  up  on  Bible  things — how  can  so 
many  people  be  wrong  on  this  divorce  question  ?  " 

"  Christ  said,  '  Whosoever  shall  marry  her  that  is 
160 


Doctor   Bryson 


divorced  committeth  adultery.  If  a  woman  shall  put 
away  her  husband  and  marry  another,  she  committeth 
adultery.' " 

There  was  a  distressing  silence ;  she  broke  it.  "  Not 
once,  but  again  and  again,  he  says  it  of  husbands  and 
wives — and  I  am  a  wretched  wife.  I  am  bound." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  Helen.  I  don't  pretend  to ; 
but  I  see  everybody  getting  divorces  when  they  want 
them,  and  going  about  their  business  just  the  same.  It 
looks  to  me  pretty  tough.  We  are  not  different  from 
anybody  else,  are  we  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause;  then  a  defiance  of  the  sugges- 
tion. 

"  Yes,  we  are.  You  are  different  from  a  good 
many  other  men ;  I  am  from  a  good  many  other  women. 
If  we  were  not  different  we  should  not  be  here  now 
together  as  we  are.  If  I  had  not  clung  like  a  sinking 
wretch  to  what  is  right  do  you  think  I  need  be  here  to- 
night without  a  home  and  without  money  ?  "  She 
stood  up,  and  her  voice  rang  startlingly. 

"  I  could  have  bought  all  that — husband  and  money 
and  home — in  the  court  and  in  the  church,  all  legally 
and  respectably,  before  ever  I  saw  you,  doctor.  But 
what  would  have  bought  it,"  she  said,  almost  haugh- 
tily, "  was  not  for  sale — my  conscience.  When  that 
goes — look  out!  Ah-h-h,  I'd  be  a  different  woman 
then !  Do  you  imagine  I  don't  like  fine  things  ?  That 
I  am  not  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 

"Helen!" 

"  And  you — are  you  common  clay  ?  If  you  were  not 
'  different '  how  could  I  have  spoken  this  night  to  you 
as  I  never  spoke  to  man  before?  To  man?  No,  not 

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Doctor  Bryson 


even  to  him,  I  swear,  did  I  ever  speak  as  I  have  spoken 
to  you.  I  have  never  shown  so  much  of  my  heart  as 
I  have  shown  to-night  to  you.  He  chilled  and  repelled 
me,"  she  said,  turning  her  head,  "  and,  God  forgive  me, 
I  detested  him  the  moment  I  really  knew  him.  And 
you — you  pitied  me.  You  did  not  talk  money.  Money ! 
That  I  could  not  raise  with  all  the  working  and  all  the 
saving !  Money !  that  I  could  get  only  by  selling  my- 
self. You  pitied  me  when  I  was  helpless;  gave  your 
skill  like  water,  like  air,  like  sunshine,  to  save  Ruth. 
And  after  that,  kindness,  liberality ;  presents  by  stealth ; 
consideration  as  delicate  as  a  woman's — as  a  woman's, 
do  I  say  ?  As  a  man's !  And  finding  at  last  my  ideal 
— if  I  could  have  been  wickeder  I  should  never  have 
found  him — I  find  myself  chained,  gagged,  helpless  to 
be  what  he  wants  me  to  be — what  I  ought  to  be.  And 
people  say  there  is  no  hell ! " 

He  found  himself  on  his  feet,  and  her  words  mad  in 
his  ears ;  but  she  was  gone. 


162 


CHAPTER     XIV 

'"\7OIJ  need  not  have  run  away  from  me  last 
I  night." 

"  What  most  I  should  have  said  I  did  not  say,"  she 
replied. 

It  was  Sunday  morning;  the  sun  was  shining. 
They  were  walking  together  in  Michigan  Avenue. 

"  I  was  thinking  after  I  left  you,"  she  went  on,  "  of 
what  worries  me  so  often.  I  am  like  one  of  whom 
you  ask  bread,  and  I  give  you  a  stone.  Your  position 
in  this  is  worse  than  mine.  You  have  not  forfeited 
your  right  to  be  happy,  as  I  have.  If  you  persist  in 
this  feeling  you  have  for  me  I  shall  be  only  a  curse  to 
you;  that's  what  I  worry  over.  I  have  been  selfish 
enough  to  speak  of  what  I  suffer;  what  of  you  and 
your  future  ?  " 

"  My  future  is  yours." 

"  No,  it  must  not  be.  You  must  give  up  the  thought 
of  what  may  never  be.  You  can  then  be  happy.  This 
is  right ;  it  is  best ;  and  seeing  you  happy — I  speak 
truly — will  be  happiness  for  me." 

"  I'd  rather  share  your  unhappiness  than  be  happy 
with  another.  It  is  so.  I  love  you.  Would  you  be 
happy  to  see  me  with  another  woman  ?  Would  you  ?  " 

"  Would  you  wish  to  lay  bare  my  heart  after  I  have 
prayed  that  happiness  may  be  yours?  Yet  if  you 
would,  you  should  find  it  ready  for  your  inspection, 

163 


Doctor  Bryson 


like  a  chamber  set  in  order.    I  would  be  happy  to  see 
you  happy." 

"  I  wanted  only  to  know  that  much,  Helen.  Let  me 
call  you  that  sometimes.  It  is  your  name,  and  as  we 
stand  now  we  face  realities.  You  have  told  me  your 
lips  are  sealed.  Forgive  me  for  trying  to  get  behind 
them.  I  love  you,  and  to  say  I  love  you  is  only  to  say 
you  love  me ;  or  it  is  only  to  ask  the  question,  do  you 
love  me?  For  if  I  say  I  love  you  and  you  answer  I 
hate  you,  what  would  my  words  amount  to?  They 
would  mean  nothing.  If  I  really  love  you  it  is  because 
we  love  each  other." 

"  May  we  not  talk  of  something  else  ?  " 

"  Gladly.  The  more  gladly  because  I  know  we 
understand  and  that  contents  me.  For  the  rest  I 
can  wait." 

"  No,  that  is  appalling,"  she  exclaimed.  "  He  may 
outlive  us  both." 

"  Something  will  happen,"  he  persisted.  "  Every- 
thing comes  to  him  who  waits,  don't  you  know  that?  " 

"  Yes,  that  and  more." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Suppose  there  comes  a  day  when  your  love  will  no 
longed  be  denied." 

"What  then?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  then.  I  wish  I  knew.  Some- 
times I  see  misery;  sometimes  disgrace;  sometimes 
death." 

"  Never.     You  are  blue ;  depressed.    Cheer  up." 

"  I  know  I  am.  I  have  been  trying  to  fight  it  off. 
Something  always  happens  when  I  get  in  this  way.  I 
was  like  this  before  I  married." 

164 


Doctor   Bryson 


He  burst  into  a  laugh.  She  did  not  seem  altogether 
in  sympathy.  "  Don't  be  displeased ;  it  sounds  so 
odd,"  said  he  in  apology.  "  The  mistake  you  make 
is  in  worrying;  you're  always  worrying  about  some- 
thing. Just  now  it  seems  to  be  me.  I  didn't  come 
into  your  life  to  make  you  worry.  I  came  into  it  to 
make  your  cares  a  little  lighter,  that's  all.  To  save 
steps  for  the  feet  I  love  and  weariness  for  the  hands  I 
love,  and  anxiety  for  the  eyes  I  love,  and  to  keep  the 
gray  out  of  the  hair  I  love;  the  brown  hair;  and  to 
keep  the  aches  out  of  the  heart  I  love — the  heart  that 
pumps  so  hard  and  so  fast  when  I  look  close  into  its 
windows." 

"  Dear  heaven !  Please  remember,  Doctor  Bryson, 
we  are  on  the  street.  Don't  bend  over  me  quite  so 
dreadfully." 

"  But  you  protest  so  sweetly  it  makes  me  fairly 
topple." 

"  Will  you  please  remember  you  are  Surgeon-In- 
chief  for  the  Eye  at  the  Laflin  College  ?  " 

"  Whether  I  remember  it  or  not,  you  are  not  likely 
to  forget  it,"  he  replied  in  banter. 

"  Certainly  not.  I  am  very  proud  of  being  the  friend 
of  the  Surgeon-in-chief,  if  you  want  to  know  it," 
she  retorted  with  a  bewitching  dignity  of  head,  "  and 
that's  why  I  object  to  his  making  a  goose  of  himself 
in  public." 

"  You  forget,  do  you  not,  that  he  is  one  of  those  un- 
fortunate birds  that  is  not  permitted  to  disport  itself  to 
any  extent  in  private  ?  "  he  responded. 

She  could  not  answer  for  the  smothered  laughing  in 
her  eyes,  and  having  got  her  into  his  mood  of  serene 

165 


Doctor  Bryson 


confidence,  he  held  her  in  it  all  day.  The  afternoon 
was  ideal  and  Bryson  took  everybody  in  turn  out  to 
the  park,  ending  after  supper  with  John  Allison.  The 
evening  was  warm  and  delightful,  a  moon  rising  full 
over  the  lake.  They  drove  leisurely  and  late,  and 
when  they  left  the  team  at  the  stable  to  stroll  home  it 
was  eleven  o'clock.  Everybody  had  gone  to  bed ;  the 
night  air  was  warm  and  the  two  men  sat  before  the 
open  window  in  John's  room  talking  till  twelve. 

In  the  very  dead  of  the  night,  when  sleep  weighs 
heaviest,  there  came  a  tap  on  Bryson's  bedroom  door. 
A  timid  rapping  first  and  after  an  interval  a  second 
and  louder  rapping.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  he  called. 

"  Doctor  Bryson?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Would  you  come  and  look  at  Ruth  a  moment, 
doctor?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  She  doesn't  seem  well." 

"  In  just  a  minute." 

It  was  hardly  so  long  before  Mrs.  Eliot  heard  his 
tap  on  her  sitting-room  door. 

"  Ruth  is  acting  so  queerly,  doctor,"  Mrs.  Eliot 
whispered  as  she  opened  the  door.  "  She  hasn't  slept 
any  to  speak  of."  He  listened  reflectively. 

"  May  I  go  right  into  the  bedroom?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  feel  conscious-stricken  at  disturbing 
you—" 

"  You  did  perfectly  right,"  he  said  in  an  undertone, 
following  her  as  she  put  aside  the  bedroom  portiere. 
Ruth  slept  in  a  pretty  little  brass  bed  opposite  her 
mother's.  The  gas  burned  low  at  the  dresser.  Bry- 

166 


Doctor   Bryson 


son  walked  lightly  across  to  Ruth.  She  lay  dozing 
uneasily.  Standing  above  her,  spread  all  over  the 
pillow,  he  listened  a  moment,  took  her  pulse  in  one 
hand,  passed  the  other  over  his  eyes  and  pushed  the 
tangle  of  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  Mrs.  Eliot  in 
a  kimono  stood  with  folded  hands  at  the  dresser.  He 
motioned  to  her  to  turn  on  the  gas,  which  she  did, 
and  pulling  up  a  chair  he  sat  down  in  silence  and  for 
some  time  watched  the  sleeping  child.  After  a  while 
Mrs.  Eliot  tiptoed  to  his  side. 

"  She  seems  to  be  easier  now,  but  she  has  been  so 
restless  and  so  feverish  it  alarmed  me."  He  heard 
without  comment,  still  looking  at  Ruth,  who  began 
again  to  toss.  But  with  the  doctor's  coming  the  rest- 
lessness had  subsided,  and  Mrs.  Eliot  blamed  her- 
self for  having  called  him.  His  face,  just  out  of  a 
heavy  sleep,  showed  in  the  glare  of  the  gas  that  which 
it  never  showed  in  daylight,  lines  of  hard  work  and 
thought.  In  his  trousers  and  slippers  and  shirt,  hair 
awry  and  heavy-eyed,  he  looked  ten  years  more  than 
day  put  upon  him. 

"  Go  back  to  bed,  doctor,"  she  whispered.  "  I  have 
let  my  fears  run  away  with  me  and  broken  your  rest 
for  nothing." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "  She  isn't  well,"  said 
he,  still  looking  at  Ruth,  "  a  little  fever ;  not  much 
though.  She  swallows  queer.  I'll  sit  here  a  few 
minutes.  She'll  wake  pretty  soon." 

He  stretched  out  his  legs,  crossed  his  arms  and  then 
his  feet.  His  chin  gradually  sunk  on  his  breast ;  in 
five  minutes  he  slept  just  as  he  sat.  Mrs.  Eliot,  sitting 
over  by  the  bureau,  watched  the  two,  almost  side  by 

167 


Doctor  Bryson 


side,  sleep ;  her  child  and  her  lover.  It  seemed  a  long 
time  before  Ruth  roused ;  Bryson  woke  with  her  first 
turning.  She  asked  for  a  drink,  and  while  her  mother 
got  it  the  doctor  stepped  to  his  room  and  back  again. 

"  Sit  up,  just  a  minute,  Ruth,  will  you?"  asked  the 
doctor,  "  I  want  to  look  at  your  throat."  Her  eyes 
were  slightly  bloodshot  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  He 
sat  down  on  the  bed  and  held  her  around  on  his  arm 
so  he  could  see  her  throat. 

"  I  hope  she  isn't  going  to  be  sick,  doctor,"  ventured 
her  mother. 

"  She  is  sick  now.  I'll  go  and  fix  some  medicine — 
have  you  a  teaspoon  ?  Where  has  she  been  lately  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  but  at  school,  doctor." 

"Are  any  of  the  little  girls  at  your  school  sick, 
Ruth?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  There  are  only  twelve  children  there.  She  goes  to 
Miss  Chill's." 

"  Does  she  go  in  the  street  cars  ?  " 

"  It's  just  around  the  corner,  you  know.  She  hasn't 
been  in  a  street  car  for  a  week."  He  made  no  com- 
ment, but  went  after  the  medicine. 

Among  other  things  he  brought  a  tiny  tin  box.  "  Let 
me  look  at  your  throat  again,  Ruth,"  said  he.  "  Come 
over  to  the  light,  where  I  can  see.  Here,  I'll  carry  you 
to  your  mamma's  bed,"  he  suggested,  bundling  her  up 
in  his  arm.  He  got  her  directly  before  the  gas  jet, 
and  with  her  mother's  help  got  a  look  at  her  throat 
clear  to  the  glottis.  With  his  spatula  he  touched 
one  of  her  tonsils.  Then  he  carried  her  all  pink  and 
white  and  curly  back  to  her  own  bed,  and  going  to  the 

168 


Doctor  Bryson 


table  took  from  it  the  glass  of  medicine  he  had  pre- 
pared and  gave  her  a  dose  of  it.  From  a  small  bottle 
he  gave  her  a  teaspoonful  of  brandy. 

"  This  will  burn,  Ruth,  but  don't  mind  that.  Swal- 
low it,  swallow  it.  Quick !  " 

"  She  will  doze  off  again,"  said  he  to  her  mother 
when  the  child  had  done  the  struggle  with  the 
alcohol.  Turning  to  the  dresser,  he  took  up  the  little 
box,  opened  it,  passed  the  spatula  over  the  gelatinous 
substance  within,  closed  the  box,  and  going  to  Ruth 
opened  her  nightgown  at  the  throat  and  placed  the 
box  under  her  arm.  "  Now,  let  me  see,"  he  said, 
methodically  reflective.  "  There's  nothing  more  to 
do  for  an  hour.  I'll  stay  out  here  in  the  sitting-room 
and  you  may  lie  down." 

"  You  may  go  to  bed  again.  I  can  give  her  the 
medicine." 

"  No,  I  want  to  see  her  as  soon  as  it's  daylight." 

"  But  I  will  call  you." 

"  You  might  oversleep." 

"  Is  it  anything  serious,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  far  enough  along  to  say.  I  merely  want  to 
be  first  in  if  anything  is  going  to  develop.  Now  you 
lie  down — " 

"  I'll  lie  down  with  Ruth." 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"  She  needs  all  the  room  she  has,"  he  answered 
evasively.  "  She  might  be  more  wakeful ;  lie  on  your 
own  bed."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  It's  three 
o'clock  now.  Lie  down  and  get  what  sleep  you  can ; 
you  haven't  had  much.  I'll  nap  out  here."  He  dis- 

169 


Doctor  Bryson 


posed  himself  by  the  sitting-room  window  in  a  big 
chair.  She  softly  closed  the  bedroom  door,  but  instead 
of  lying  down  began  to  dress  herself.  While  doing  so 
she  heard  him  at  the  telephone.  She  turned  the  gas 
low  and  sat  down  by  Ruth.  The  night  wind  rising  on 
the  lake  blew  cool  through  the  north  window.  She 
lowered  the  sash  and  going  to  the  sitting-room  door 
opened  it  to  see  what  he  was  doing.  He  had  thrown 
himself  among  the  pillows  on  the  couch,  and  lay  on 
his  side  fast  asleep.  It  was  chilly  in  the  room,  and 
as  he  lay  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  clutching  the  pillow  in 
his  arms  above  his  head,  he  appeared  abnormally  long. 
She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  tiptoed  back,  took  a 
blanket  off  her  own  bed,  and  going  to  him  drew  it  cau- 
tiously over  him.  He  slept  heavily.  She  listened  to 
his  breathing,  turned  the  gas  low  at  the  head  of  the 
couch  and  bent  over  him.  His  hands  were  clasped. 
The  withered  little  old  woman  on  whom  he  had  oper- 
ated came  back  to  her,  and,  stooping,  her  breath  stole 
timidly  over  his  closed  fingers  and  her  lips  touched 
them ;  but  he  slept. 

When  he  woke  day  was  breaking.  Mrs.  Eliot  was 
sitting  near  looking  out  of  the  south  window. 

"  Has  she  waked  ?  "  he  asked,  sitting  up. 

"  Not  once,  and  she  has  been  ever  so  much  quieter. 
I  think  she  is  better." 

He  walked  to  Ruth,  fished  his  tiny  box  out  from 
under  her  arm  and  slipped  it  into  his  vest  pocket,  went 
to  his  room,  took  a  bath  and  dressed.  The  door  bell 
rang  as  he  stepped  again  into  the  hall  and  he  answered 
it.  Jim  had  come  with  the  things  the  doctor  had  tele- 
phoned for. 

170 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  caught  the  first  car,  doctor,"  said  Jim,  handing 
him  a  package. 

"  You're  in  good  time.  That's  right.  Go  up  to 
the  room  and  stay  for  your  breakfast.  Then  take  this 
box  down  to  the  laboratory  straight  and  ask  Kemp  to 
examine  it  at  once.  The  minute  you  get  the  word  tele- 
phone me  what  he  says.  Don't  call  me  up  here.  Call 
me  up  at  the  drug  store." 

Returning  to  Mrs.  Eliot's  room,  he  found  Ruth 
awake,  her  eyes  heavy  and  her  cheeks  purplish.  With 
her  mother's  help  he  got  her  to  the  light  again  and 
looked  at  her  throat  twice,  gave  her  medicine,  followed 
it  with  a  teaspoonful  of  the  fiery  brandy  and  laid  her 
down  himself.  After  breakfast  he  went  over  to  the 
drug  store  and  was  gone  a  long  time. 

When  he  came  back  he  went  in  to  Ruth.  Mrs.  Eliot 
followed  him  from  the  sitting-room.  "  How  does  she 
seem,  doctor?"  He  made  no  answer,  but  walked  to 
the  window  and  waited  for  her  to  join  him.  "  Is  she 
sick  ?  "  asked  her  mother  again  anxiously. 

"  Yes." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Has  she  ever  had  any  serious  throat  trouble?  " 

"No.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  she  has  now." 

"  Oh,  doctor,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  become  alarmed  unnecessarily." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  I'm  glad  we  have  it  on  hand  early — " 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is—" 

"  And  for  that  reason  I  ask  you  not  to  be  unneces- 
sarily frightened.  It  is  diphtheria." 

171 


Doctor   Bryson 


Mrs.  Eliot's  face  faded;  in  seconds  she  aged  years. 

"Diphtheria  is  serious,"  she  heard  him  saying  quiet- 
ly, "  it  is  by  no  means  necessarily  fatal.  There  is  noth- 
ing now  to  indicate  more  than  an  ordinary  attack.  My 
dear  one,"  he  begged,  "  control  yourself.  These  things 
always  come  unexpectedly.  We  have  it  right  in  the 
bud.  She  is  in  splendid  health.  Unless  extraordinary 
complications  develop  she  will  come  out  all  right." 

Mrs.  Eliot  sank  into  a  chair  deadly  white.  While 
speaking  he  had  thrown  the  sash  wide  for  the  air.  Half 
fainting,  she  tried  again  and  again  before  she  could 
look  up  at  him.  When  her  lips  moved  no  sound  came ; 
only  her  eyes  looked  prayers  into  his.  He  reached 
for  a  cologne  bottle,  and  sprinkling  his  fingers,  bathed 
her  temples.  As  soon  as  she  could  raise  her  own  hands 
she  caught  his  convulsively.  "  Will  you  save  her?  " 

"  Don't,  for  God's  sake,  look  like  that.  Will  it  make 
it  any  easier  for  me  to  work?  Ruth  is  not  going  to 
die." 

"Will  you  save  her?" 

"  I  tell  you  I  will." 

"  Oh,  Johnnie,  Johnnie  Ledgcott !  " 

"  Everything  was  against  me  then,  wasn't  it  ?  You 
know  that,  don't  you  ?  "  She  nodded  her  head,  her 
eyes  were  tearless. 

"  Just  be  brave — you  can  help  so  much.  I'll  have 
a  nurse  here  after  breakfast.  There  will  be  no  quaran- 
tine, no  annoyance  of  any  sort.  I  will  arrange  all.  We 
need  only  have  care.  I  love  her.  If  she  were  my  child 
instead  of  yours — if  she  were  our  child — I  couldn't  do 
more  for  her  than  I  will  do.  You  need  only  trust  me. 
Can't  you  do  that?" 

172 


Doctor  Bryson 


Crying  softly  then  she  returned  the  pressure  of  his 
hand.  He  went  in  to  Ruth.  When  she  followed, 
Ruth,  surrounded  by  pillows,  was  sitting  up,  her  head 
hung  in  laughter.  Doctor  Bryson  was  telling  her  a 
droll  story  about  a  fine  and  stylish  young  darky  wo- 
man, a  very  light  chocolate  colored  young  darky  wo- 
man, with  red  kid  gloves  and  a  picture  hat  and  gold- 
rimmed  nose  glasses,  who  wanted  her  eyes  operated 
on  so  she  could  read  with  them,  never  having  had  time, 
in  the  regular  way,  to  learn  how. 

And  when  Mrs.  Eliot  left  the  room  again  Bryson, 
with  his  arm  around  Ruth,  told  her  confidentially  that 
she  was  just  the  least  bit  sick,  but  that  she  must  not 
let  her  mamma  know ;  and  that  he  would  give  her  a 
little  medicine  on  the  sly,  and  stay  with  her  himself, 
and  mamma  would  think  they  were  having  an 
old-fashioned  visit  together;  for,  he  said,  he  was  all 
tired  out  anyway,  and  meant  to  stay  home  from  the 
old  College  for  a  few  days  and  rest  up. 

There  were  blanched  faces  at  the  breakfast  table 
when  the  word  went  round.  There  happened  to  be 
at  the  time  in  June's  household  three  or  four  outsiders, 
as  those  not  in  the  regular  circle  were  called.  In  spite 
of  all  efforts  to  quiet  the  matter  there  was  something 
like  a  sensation  in  the  house,  and  nearly  a  fight,  in 
which  Bowles  figured  with  a  bull-necked  bachelor,  who 
insisted  the  child  should  be  sent  to  an  isolation  hospi- 
tal. The  bachelor's  traps  were  finally  put  into  the  street 
by  Bowles  himself,  who  stripped  the  offender's  room 
and  suggested  fumigating  it.  The  enraged  bachelor 
filed  a  complaint  with  the  health  department  and  with- 
in an  hour  afterward  an  officer  arrived  at  the  house. 

173 


Doctor   Bryson 


But  Doctor  Bryson  met  him  with  his  card  and  a  smile, 
and  wrote  a  few  words  on  the  card  to  the  chief  health 
officer,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it.  The  bachelor  man 
stirred  up  the  papers  and  three  reporters  together  rang 
the  door  bell.  But  Doctor  Bryson  again  smiled  and 
wrote  a  few  words  on  a  card  to  the  managing  editors, 
and  telephoned  Bowles,  who  arranged  practically 
everything.  When  the  bachelor  man  looked  next 
morning  in  the  papers  for  his  account  of  the  case  of 
malignant  diphtheria  that  was  being  concealed  by  a 
prominent  South  Side  doctor,  he  couldn't  find  it.  So 
he  wrote  an  article  on  the  prevalence  of  pulls  in  Chica- 
go, and  sent  it  to  a  New  York  paper,  by  which,  in  due 
time,  it  was  returned  with  the  intimation  that  the  edi- 
tors were  not  at  present  buying  anything  but  news. 

And  Ruth,  all  the  time  the  excitement  was  raging 
on  her  account,  was  at  first  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  with 
Doctor  Bryson  telling  her  funny  stories  and  making 
her  take  beef  essence  and  chicken  broth  that  he  cooked 
himself.  Yes,  he  said,  he  made  it  himself  at  the  big 
range,  and  she  must  take  it.  And  he  was  always  coax- 
ing her  to  swallow  something  very  fiery  that  she  hated 
because  it  burned  her  throat  and  choked  her  so.  Then 
she  could  no  longer  breathe  and  she  saw  terrible 
things  in  the  air,  and  a  friend  of  Doctor  Bryson's,  from 
the  College,  came  to  see  her  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
— a  short,  fat,  Germany  man,  with  spectacles  as  thick 
as  bulls'  eyes  and  fighting  hair  and  a  touch-me-not  mus- 
tache. He  stayed  a  long  time  and  stared  at  her  un- 
accountably, and  put  a  complicated  arrangement  in  her 
mouth,  and  peered  into  her  throat  till  he  quite  suffo- 
cated her  and  she  knew  she  was  going  to  die.  It  was 

174 


Doctor   Bryson 


serious  that  night.  He  was  a  very  queer  man,  to 
whom  everybody  paid  great  deference,  and  when  he 
tried  to  say  throat,  he  said  "  troat,"  and  put  his  finger 
on  her  neck  fondly,  and  felt  it  all  around  as  if  he  were 
feeling  for  a  good  soft  place  to  cut  into.  But  Bryson, 
thoughtful  and  heavy,  shook  his  head  a  little.  He  mut- 
tered, "  I  think  not,  doctor,"  and  Ruth  slept. 

She  woke  again,  and  it  was  night ;  the  gas  carefully 
shaded,  and  a  strange  lady  in  a  gray  striped  dress  sat 
smiling  at  her,  and  Doctor  Bryson  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  His  hair  was  tumbled  and  his  arms  were 
folded  and  he  was  looking  fixedly  at  her.  And  she 
tried  to  speak,  but  her  throat  hurt  so  dreadfully  she 
could  not.  She  could  only  gasp  and  make  signs,  terri- 
bly frightened.  And  the  doctor  and  the  nurse  spoke 
fast  and  together  took  her  up  and  worked  a  long  time 
over  her  till  she  could  breathe  somewhat.  Then  she 
went  to  sleep.  But  frightful  dreams  came  even  after 
that.  A  tall,  tall  man  did  things  that  hurt  her  terribly, 
and  a  woman  helped  with  the  torture,  and  her  throat 
was  on  fire  and  getting  bigger  and  bigger;  but  they 
did  not  care,  though  she  screamed  until  she  forgot 
everything  and  could  hear  no  more  save  some  one 
moaning  at  her  pillow ;  and  she  slept. 

And  after  a  long,  long  time  she  woke  again;  and 
again  it  was  night  and  the  light  was  very  soft,  and  she 
told,  long,  long  afterward,  of  hearing  a  voice  and 
knowing  it  was  Doctor  Bryson's  voice ;  told  of  hearing 
him  say :  "  She  is  going  to  live." 

Then  her  mother,  moaning  and  sobbing,  had  thrown 
herself  down  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow.  It 
seemed  so  strange  to  Ruth,  with  the  striped  lady  bust- 

175 


Doctor  Bryson 


ling  around  so  sprightly  and  her  mother  crying  so 
hard  and  Doctor  Bryson  standing  at  the  other  side  of 
the  bed  looking.  Only  she  was  very  weak,  and  when 
she  tried  to  lift  her  hand  she  could  not.  She  turned 
again  and  closed  her  eyes,  glad  she  was  going  to  live. 


176 


CHAPTER  XV 

IT  was  morning  next  time,  and  sunshine,  and  Ruth 
weakly  asked  for  her  mamma.  The  striped  lady 
said  she  was  in  bed.  And  Ruth  asked  for  the  doctor ; 
and  the  striped  lady  said  he  was  in  bed.  Then  June 
peered  cautiously  in  from  the  sitting-room  and  looked 
at  Ruth  as  if  she  had  stolen  all  the  jam  in  the  pantry, 
and  been  a  bad,  bad  girl  generally,  and  asked  many 
questions  of  the  striped  lady.  And  Ruth,  wondering 
what  they  were  all  about,  heard  them.  "  Did  he  use 
anti-toxine  ?  "  asked  June  with  awed  curiosity. 

"  No,"  answered  the  striped  lady. 

"  I  thought  everybody  used  that." 

"  He  didn't." 

"  Nor  tracheotomy  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  My  stars !    How  did  he  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  guess  he  did  it  with  grape  brandy 
and  broths  and  things.  '  Stimulation  and  nutrition,' 
was  all  he  said  to  me.  I  wouldn't  want  another  case 
like  that." 

Then  Ruth  knew  after  a  while  that  she  had  been  very 
sick.  When  her  mother  came  in,  Ruth  saw  how  pale 
and  worn  she  was.  So  she  tried  to  put  her  arms  up  to 
her  mother's  neck,  but  she  could  not  even  lift  them ; 
her  mother  had  to  do  that.  Then  in  the  early  morning 
the  striped  lady  went  away  and  after  nightfall  Doctor 
Bryson  would  drop  in,  not  forcing  a  laugh  as  he  did 

177 


Doctor   Bryson 


when  she  was  very  sick,  but  really  jolly  again  and 
with  some  new  joke  that  make  everybody  else  jolly,  for 
the  anxious  hours  and  the  deadly  membrane  and  the 
purplish  poison  were  gone!  Gone,  all  but  the  getting 
well,  which  went  slowly  and  at  times  discouragingly. 
Doctor  Bryson  had  warned  all  that  patience  would 
be  needed  in  the  getting  well.  Ruth  did  not  get  back, 
even  with  summer  and  sunshine,  her  color  and  her 
strength.  Doctor  Bryson  said  she  must  have  different 
air. 

"  If  you  could  get  away  somewhere  with  her,"  he 
said  in  perplexity  one  night  at  the  table.  "  Up  north 
somewhere;  anywhere.  She  ought  to  be  taken  away 
before  the  hot  weather." 

"  If  I  could  only  get  away,"  reflected  Mrs.  Eliot. 
"  But  my  pupils !  They  would  be  scattered  to  the  four 
winds  if  I  went  away  now.  Later  I  could  manage — 
but  now,  I  don't  see  how." 

"  She  needs  to  be  somewhere  up  north  on  the  water. 
Sunshine  and  sand  are  what  she  needs  all  summer 
long.  Medicine  is  of  no  avail  in  a  case  like  this.  She 
would  come  back  in  the  fall  better  than  she  ever  was 
in  her  life.  The  virus  of  diphtheria  is  peculiarly  ma- 
lignant; she  was  pretty  sick." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Goddard,  who 
was  in  the  circle,  "  let  her  go  up  to  Grand  Bay  with 
us;  Mrs.  Eliot.  I'll  take  her  and  keep  her  all  sum- 
mer." 

"  Sure,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Goddard,  "  you  can  go  fish- 
ing with  me,  Ruth,  and  swimming  every  morning. 
Let  her  go  with  us,  Mrs.  Eliot.  We're  going  to  start 
Monday." 

178 


Doctor   Bryson 


It  seemed  sudden,  but  it  seemed  the  thing  to  do. 
There  was  a  good  bit  of  sewing  necessary.  Mrs.  Eliot 
hesitated;  everyone  urged  her  to  a  decision  and  one 
night's  reflection  settled  her  doubt.  In  the  morning 
preparation  began  for  starting  Ruth  with  the  God- 
dards.  After  one  week  and  a  sewing  and  an  excite- 
ment in  the  Eliot  rooms  unparalleled,  Ruth,  like  a 
fairy  girl,  stood  one  afternoon  between  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Goddard  on  the  deck  of  the  northbound  steamer,  wav- 
ing at  her  mother  and  June  and  Jim  a  wondrous  par- 
asol that  June  had  surreptitiously  conveyed,  only  the 
night  before,  into  her  outfit. 

The  child  left  more  than  an  ordinary  vacancy  at 
June's  table.  It  was  several  days  before  the  new  ad- 
justment became  endurable  to  her  mother.  Then  a 
letter  from  Mrs.  Goddard,  with  incredible  details 
concerning  Ruth's  appetite  helped  restore  Mrs.  Eliot's 
spirits.  Bowles,  too,  astounded  the  household  by 
marrying,  without  the  slightest  notice,  a  pretty  country 
girl  up  at  Waukegan,  and  taking  a  flat  in  a  big  new 
apartment  building  out  south.  Following  that,  most 
unexpectedly,  Mary  Montague  came  back  from  Lon- 
don with  exciting  stories  of  new  successes  and  new 
sensations  in  the  world  of  miniatures.  The  weather 
turned  intensely  hot.  Temperature  became  the  topic 
and  the  nights  were  spent  in  extraordinary  efforts  to 
keep  cool. 

The  whole  South  Side  made  an  effort  to  get  out  of 
doors  the  minute  the  sun  set.  It  became  a  campaign 
of  rides  and  breezes  and  ices.  Every  night  after  din- 
ner the  doctor's  horses  were  at  the  door.  He  drove 
with  John  a  great  deal  in  the  phaeton :  sometimes  they 

179 


Doctor  Bryson 


ordered  a  stable  cabriolet  and  took  Miss  Montague, 
Mrs.  Eliot  and  June  through  the  parks,  which  hummed 
from  dark  until  midnight  with  carriages.  Sometimes 
they  drove,  four,  through  Lincoln  Park  and  spent  the 
evening  in  one  of  the  palm  gardens  where  the  music 
was  excellent,  the  refreshments  good,  and  the  air  cool. 
The  tables  were  filled  with  people,  relaxed,  indolent, 
resting,  and  the  shaded  corners  swarmed  with  parties 
at  supper,  parties  at  ices,  and  parties  at  steins  and 
cigars.  Men  with  slightly  foreign  airs;  hair  pompa- 
dour; men  long  haired  and  crop  haired  and  men  with 
no  hair;  women  smartly  rigged,  and  under  the  arc 
lights  difficult  to  place  as  they  laughed  and  sipped  and 
ate  and  listened.  What  amazed  the  party  from  June's 
was  not  alone  the  apparent  refinement  and  elegance  of 
the  women,  but  their  apparent  indifference  to  the  num- 
ber of  times  their  glasses  were  replenished. 

If  it  was  moonlight,  so  much  the  better.  The  doc- 
tor would  take  the  reins — he  was  a  whip — with  Mrs. 
Eliot  at  his  side,  while  John  and  Miss  Montague  rode 
behind,  and  over  the  good  pavement  they  would 
briskly  whirl,  and  through  the  bad  streets  they  would 
slowly  and  pleasantly  lurch,  with  the  moon  breaking 
between  brick  rows  and  from  behind  flat  buildings, 
and  the  horses  eyeing  the  rotten  roadway  disdainfully, 
picking  aristocratic  steps  along  it.  The  holes  would 
Ire  black  in  the  shadows,  with  Doctor  Bryson  watching 
the  careful  pace  as  a  sailor  watches  the  water,  the  un- 
even springing  dip  of  the  carriage  punctuating 
snatches  of  talk  or  laugh  or  joke  from  the  back  seat  to 
the  front,  or  from  the  front  to  the  back.  And  home 
late  to  a  big  pitcher  of  lemonade  left  in  the  refrigerator 

180 


Doctor  Bryson 


by  old  Julie,  the  cook,  as  a  personal  compliment  to 
her  friend,  Doctor  Bryson. 

Sometimes  they  would  vary  such  diversions  with  a 
roof  garden  evening;  but  the  result  was  always  the 
same.  Throughout  the  warm  weather,  like  real 
Chicagoans,  they  worked  hard  all  night  getting  ready 
for  the  next  day's  heat;  then  they  wondered  after  a 
while  why  they  were  tired — at  least  so  Bryson  sug- 
gested one  night  when  there  were  complaints  at  din- 
ner of  fatigue. 

"  The  real  philosophy  for  hot  weather,"  he  declared, 
"  is  to  take  off  your  clothes  and  go  to  bed.  But  I'm 
the  only  one  in  town  that  knows  that — " 

"  And  you  haven't  sense  enough  to  do  it,"  suggested 
Miss  Montague  from  a  fork  full  of  peas. 

"  True,  but  then  I'm  never  tired." 

He  was,  in  fact,  indefatigable;  always  ready  for 
any  sort  of  an  excursion,  nor  was  any  excursion  too 
extended  for  him.  Hot  weather,  sun,  rain,  iced  drinks, 
music,  night  air,  everything  agreed  with  him.  One 
night  when  he  wanted  to  go  north  it  happened  that 
Miss  Montague  had  something  to  go  to  at  the  Fine 
Arts  Building ;  John  was  booked  with  her  and  it  broke 
up  the  party.  Mrs.  Eliot  and  June  were  sitting  on 
the  porch  with  Bryson  moving  about,  restless. 

"Let's  go  down  and  call  on  Bowles  and  his  wife/ 
he  suggested  to  Mrs.  Eliot  after  a  while. 

"  You  go  down,"  she  said.     He  would  not. 

"  We've  been  talking  about  it  for  a  month,"  he  per- 
sisted. "  Let's  go  down  to-night." 

"  I  should  have  to  dress." 

"  Oh,  no." 

181 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  couldn't  call  on  a  bride  in  this  costume." 

"  Well,  go  ahead,  I'll  wait  for  you." 

"  Go  on,"  urged  June,  "  and  wear  your  new  dress." 

"  What's  the  new  dress?  "  asked  Bryson. 

"  Why,  the  organdie,"  scolded  June 

"  The  only  one  I  have,"  laughed  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  She  made  it  herself,  every  stitch,  and  she  hasn't 
had  it  on  yet.  Now's  your  chance.  Come  on,  I'll 
help  you." 

After  that  .there  was  no  hiding  of  the  organdie 
secret.  The  demand  became  peremptory.  June  urged 
her  upstairs,  lighted  the  gas  and  got  out  the  dress. 

The  dress !  The  new  gown  of  one  whole  year. 
Product  of  a  little  money,  of  little  economies,  innumer- 
able little  stitches,  hours  stolen  from  rest  and  from 
sleep  and  plannings  prodigious — simple  little  organdie. 
Half  an  hour,  at  least,  Bryson  put  in  about  the  halls 
and  parlor ;  then  June  brought  her  down  with  a  cry, 
"  Now,  Mr.  Man !  " 

"  Jove,  it's  a  dream,"  exclaimed  Bryson,  rising  from 
the  piano  stool.  She  stood  playful  under  the  chande- 
lier, one  hand  clasping  her  girdle,  the  other  falling 
from  an  outstretched  arm.  She  looked  so  slight  and  so 
girlish,  her  face  lighted  so  happily  over  the  success, 
her  cheeks  flushed  so  prettily  at  the  surprised  praise  of 
her  critics,  that  they  fell  doubly  in  love — with  the 
organdie  and  the  wearer.  Yielding  to  the  quick  im- 
pulse of  their  admiration,  she  twirled  half  about  like  a 
dancing  girl.  June  clapped  her  hands  at  her  with  a 
shout  and  ran  at  her,  but  she  caught  up  her  skirt,  es- 
caped, and  with  a  bow  of  running  nods,  made  away 
for  her  hat. 

182 


Doctor   Bryson 


"What  makes  it  rustle  so?"  asked  Bryson,  as  the 
two  followed  her  into  the  hall. 

"  That's  the  petticoat,  you  goose,"  exclaimed  June. 
"  It's  made  over  silk ;  that's  the  finery  of  it,  don't  you 
see?" 

They  started  down  the  avenue  in  good  mood.  He 
wanted  to  ride,  but  she  wanted  to  walk.  As  they 
went  on  there  was  a  pleasure  even  in  the  fall  of  their 
feet  together,  and  her  hand  light  upon  his  arm  was 
confidence  and  inspiration  to  him.  The  Bowleses  were 
at  home ;  they  were  rebelliously  warm  and  happy.  It 
took  only  ten  minutes  of  visiting  between  the  men  to 
evolve  a  plan.  A  new  South  Side  garden,  over  which 
Bowles  was  enthusiastic,  had  been  recently  opened. 
"  Haven't  you  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Bowleses  in  chorus. 
"  Then,  Sammie,"  cried  Mrs.  Bowles,  a  whole  feminine 
dynamo  in  herself,  "  we  must  take  them  right  down 
there  on  the  trolley  !  "  So  the  call  turned  into  a  trolley 
ride  and  an  evening  at  the  new  garden  under  the  chap- 
eronage  of  the  Bowleses. 

But  whatever  Sammie  Bowles's  faults,  failure  to 
provide  entertainment  was  not  one.  The  appoint- 
ments of  the  new  place  were  liberal,  and  it  was 
crowded.  Bowles,  however,  was  close  enough  to  the 
new  manager  to  get  a  table  surrounded  by  huge,  new 
painted  green  tubs  bursting  with  perpetuated  palms, 
where  they  could  command  the  dancing  and  the  vaude- 
ville "  features  "  that  crowded  one  upon  another  on 
and  off  the  stage.  Bowles  assumed  absolute  command 
and  controlled  the  ordering.  Mrs.  Eliot  was  served 
with  pretty  ices  and  wonderful  lemonades,  and  Mrs. 
Bowles  with  a  variety  of  frapped  punches  and  fruited 

183 


Doctor   Bryson 


creams :  Doctor  Bryson  with  steins  of  very  black  beer 
and  Bowles  himself  with  delicately  glassed  amber  bev- 
erages, topped  with  lovely  strawberries,  which  Bryson 
declared  had  fallen  into  bad  company.  The  people 
that  crowded  the  garden,  seen  through  wreathing 
cigar  smoke  and  nodding  plumes,  through  desiccated 
fronds  and  spitting  arc  lights,  were  in  a  contagious 
good  humor.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  party  left  the 
resort  and  took  the  trolley  car  as  far  as  the  Bowles 
apartments,  where  they  parted,  the  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Eliot  deciding  to  walk  home. 

T.he  later  hours  of  the  night  had  brought  but  partial 
relief  from  the  heat.  They  sauntered  easily,  talking  in 
starts  as  they  went  along.  He  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  Mrs.  Bowles.  "  She's  a  good-fiearted  little 
thing.  All  nerves,  of  course.  And  very  pretty,  isn't 
she?" 

"  Yes,  she  is  pretty ;  but  Lord !"  he  drew  himself 
languidly  together  with  the  frank  conviction  naturally 
his,  "  if  anybody  had  been  called  to  pick  the  bride  in 
our  party  you'd  have  been  chosen  fifty  times  over. 
You  never  looked  so  pretty  in  your  life  as  you  did  at 
the  table  to-night.  Mrs.  Bowles  was  a  shade  jealous." 

"  Nonsense." 

"  Did  you  honestly  make  this  yourself  ?  "  looking  at 
the  organdie  under  a  street  lamp. 

"  Yes." 

"  It's  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw." 

"  Then  if  my  nerves  give  out  at  music,  as  you  say 
they  will,  I'll  take  up  dressmaking.  I'll  start  a  big 
establishment  on  Michigan  Avenue  and  adopt  a  plate 
and  a  crest.  Who  knows?  By  that  time,  perhaps, 

184 


Doctor   Bryson 


you'll  give  me  orders  for  your  wife's  gowns ;  she'll  be 
very  swell,  of  course." 

"  She  is  very  swell  now,"  he  answered,  calmly  look- 
ing down,  "  and  you  can  have  the  ordering  of  all  her 
dresses — will  you  take  the  contract  now?  " 

"  For  future  delivery?  It's  a  good  way  ahead ;  don't 
let's  settle  it  to-night — let's  talk  about  Mrs.  Bowles." 

"  All  right.  Do  you  see  that  star  up  there  ?  That 
soft,  white,  burning  one  ;  steady  and  dazzling.  That's 
you ;  and  there's  Mrs.  Bowles  over  there ;  that  blink- 
ing affair  to  the  right." 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  Mrs.  Bowles  then.  Let's 
talk  about  the  poor  people  that  came  to  you  to-day  in 
distress  and  that  you  sent  away  happy." 

"  Let  distress  be  for  the  day ;  to-night  let  us  dream 
that  there  is  no  distress ;  that  troubles  hide  when  the 
stars  seek.  The  day  may  be  to  another ;  the  night  is 
ours." 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Why  are  you  silent?" 

"  Listening  to  the  echo  of  your  words." 

It  was  still  in  the  street ;  their  feet  fell  in  slow  rhythm 
together  and  the  silken  rustle  of  her  skirt  was  as  if 
they  tread  among  the  leaves  of  woods.  The  walk 
home  was  all  too  short  and  the  house  seemed  stifling 
after  the  night  air.  The  windows  and  doors  hardly 
counted,  though  every  one,  to  tempt  a  breeze,  was 
thrown  wide.  They  parted  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 
He  wanted  her  to  go  down  again  and  sit  on  the  porch. 
He  clung  to  her  hand,  but  she  pulled  it  away,  and, 
telling  him  he  must  go  to  bed,  went  to  her  room. 

He  did  not  go  to  bed.  He  went  to  his  room,  threw 
185 


Doctor   Bryson 


off  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and  tore  open  his  collar; 
it  seemed  to  oppress  him.  He  dragged  the  couch 
to  the  window  and  lay  down  with  his  hands  clasped 
above  his  head,  looking  out  for  a  while  at  the  stars. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  up  again  hunting  for 
a  fan ;  then  he  walked  irresolutely  into  the  hall,  down- 
stairs, back  to  the  basement  stairs  and  through  the 
dining-room,  which  was  dark,  into  the  kitchen,  where 
the  gas  burned  low.  His  friend,  cook  Julie,  was  a 
night  hawk.  On  muggy  nights,  owing  to  her  asthma, 
she  never  went  to  bed.  Bryson  found  her  just  outside 
the  kitchen  door  dozing  in  her  armchair. 

"  Julie,"  said  he,  "  did  you  ever  see  such  a  hot  night 
in  your  life  ?  " 

"  Oh,  doctor,  is  it  you  ?  Ain't  it  awful  to-day  ?  " 
gasped  Julie.  "  What  be  you  wantin',  doctor?  " 

"  Julie,"  said  the  doctor,  confidentially,  slipping  a 
dollar  into  her  hand,  "  do  you  want  to  make  me  a 
lemonade  ?  One  of  those  Pittsburg  lemonades,  Julie  ?  " 

"Oh,  doctor!" 

"Will  you?" 

"  Sure,  for  you,  doctor,  yes ;  if  I  don't  drop  dead 
over  it." 

"  Is  there  any  claret  in  the  ice  box?  " 

"  Plenty." 

"  Make  a  pitcher  of  it,  Julie.  I  never  was  so  thirsty 
in  my  life." 

He  lighted  the  gas  in  the  dining-room,  picked  a 
newspaper  from  the  sideboard  and  sat  down  while  the 
lemonade  was  going  forward  to  look  it  over.  But  he 
threw  the  paper  down  almost  at  once,  took  a  hand- 
kerchief from  his  shirt  pocket,  passed  it  impatiently 

1 86 


Doctor   Bryson 


across  his  forehead,  and  throwing  one  foot  across  his 
knee,  clasped  his  hands  over  his  head,  leaned  back  and 
studied  the  ceiling. 

"  Put  the  claret  in  to  suit  yourself,  doctor,"  sug- 
gested Julie,  coming  forward,  with  her  mellow  wheeze. 

He  started,  and  the  front  legs  of  his  chair  struck  the 
floor  as  he  laughed.  He  took  the  bottle,  emptied  half 
of  it  into  the  lemon  juice,  and  Julie  wheezed  and  stirred 
and  sugared  until  he  pronounced  it  right.  "  Julie," 
he  declared,  admiringly,  "  you're  a  marvel." 

"  Ah,  doctor !  Did  you  want  one  glass  or  two  ?  "  she 
asked,  spreading  a  napkin  on  a  tray. 

"  One." 

"  You're  not  going  to  drink  all  this  alone  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  Did  you  want  just  one  glass?  " 

"  Why,  two,  thank  you ;  that's  fine.    Good  night." 

When  he  left  the  dining-room  his  manner  changed. 
His  restlessness  became  repression  and  he  tread  so 
lightly  that  the  chipped  ice  slushing  faintly  in  the 
pitcher  as  he  walked  upstairs  was  the  only  sound  to 
be  heard. 

The  gas  burned  dim  in  the  upper  hall.  He  put  the 
tray  noiselessly  on  the  table  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
took  up  a  glass  and,  holding  it  to  the  lip  of  the  pitcher, 
filled  it  with  only  the  slightest  clinking,  filled  the  sec- 
ond glass  more  slowly  and  set  the  pitcher  down.  He 
took  the  glasses  up  in  either  hand,  set  them  again  on 
the  table,  took  his  handkerchief  from  the  pocket  of 
his  shirt,  passed  it  over  his  mouth,  took  up  the  two 
glasses  and  started  toward  Mrs.  Eliot's  room. 

The  door  of  her  sitting-room  stood  slightly  open. 
187 


Doctor   Bryson 


He  pushed  it  slowly  open  with  his  foot.  The  room 
was  dark  save  for  the  light  from  the  hall  that  made 
things  dimly  visible.  He  spoke  her  name,  "  Helen  ?  " 
and  listened.  The  portieres  across  the  door  opening 
into  the  bedroom  were  half  drawn  ;  the  only  light  with- 
in came  through  the  transom  of  the  hall  door.  Balan- 
cing his  two  glasses,  he  walked  toward  the  bedroom. 
If  it  required  an  effort  to  steady  the  full  glasses  none 
was  perceptible,  even  to  himself,  and  speaking  in  the 
same  low  tone  he  had  called  before,  he  murmured, 
"  I've  brought  you  some  lemonade." 

There  were  two  beds  in  the  inner  room.  Her  own 
stood  to  the  right  of  the  opening  partly  in  shadow; 
just  as  with  the  words  he  took  a  step  forward  and  stood 
in  the  doorway  he  saw  her.  She  was  on  Her  knees  be- 
side her  bed,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  The  cover- 
let was  turned  back;  she  was  saying  her  prayers. 
Of  all  situations  he  had  foreseen  this  was  the  unex- 
pected. It  struck  him  like  a  cold  plunge,  horribly  out 
of  keeping  with  his  temper.  He  had  an  instant's 
vision  of  her  loosened  hair,  of  her  bent  head  and  the 
slope  of  her  rounding  shoulders  as  she  knelt,  then  her 
face  rose  out  of  her  hands.  She  looked  up  in  astonish- 
ment, in  consternation,  and  was  on  her  feet  and  before 
him  like  a  flash.  All  he  could  see  was  the  white  out- 
line, the  loose  hair  and  the  startled  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter,  doctor?" 

"  Nothing,  only  I  brought  you  a  glass  of  lemonade." 

She  looked  all  her  surprise,  her  unspoken  question, 
her  swift  comprehension,  in  the  bare  interval  before 
she  spoke.  Then  she  said  evenly  and  kindly,  "  I  sin- 
cerely beg  your  pardon ;  I  did  not  hear  you  rap." 

188 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  I  didn't  rap."  There  was  no  defiance  in  the  way 
he  said  it,  only  an  inevitable  one  in  the  words  them- 
selves that  she  could  ignore  only  by  silence;  but  on 
the  threshold  of  honor  silence  is  defense. 

"  I  had  both  hands  full,"  he  muttered,  "  how  could 
I  rap  ?  I  called,  but  you  didn't  hear,  probably." 

She  caught  at  the  straw.  "  Oh,  did  you  ?  I  am  so 
sorry  I  didn't  hear."  Speaking,  she  slipped  directly 
past  him  into  the  sitting-room,  seized  a  match  from 
the  mantel,  struck  it,  and,  reached  quickly  to  the  fix- 
ture to  light  the  gas.  As  she  made  the  effort  the 
flowing  sleeve  of  her  nighrobe  fell  from  her  arm  and 
the  blaze  of  the  match  left  it  lighted  in  defenseless 
loveliness ;  but  what  was  it  to  him  now — a  burglar 
in  Paradise?  Just  a  slight  revenge  came  to  him — 
her  match  went  out  and  they  were  left  again  in  the 
half  darkness. 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,"  he  said,  resentfully.  "  What  do 
you  want  to  light  the  gas  for?  " 

"  You  light  it,  please,  doctor ;  let  me  take  the 
glasses." 

"  Nonsense,  I  won't  do  it ;  you  don't  need  any 
light.  Here,  take  your  lemonade." 

"What  is  it,  claret  punch,  doctor?"  she  asked  in- 
stinctively. "  I  drank  two  glasses  of  -lemonade  at  the 
garden ;  thank  you  very  much.  I'm  not  a  bit  thirsty. 
I  won't  take  any." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  sit  down  while  I  take  mine  ?  " 

"  Don't  drink  it,"  she  urged,  laying  her  hands  on  his 
wrists,  "  you  are  burning  hot  now." 

"  Well,  am  I  to  stand  here  all  night  holding  this 
stuff?" 

189 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  No,  no,  give  it  to  me,"  she  exclaimed,  taking  the 
brimming  glasses  from  him.  They  stood  facing  each 
other. 

"  Now  you  look  as  foolish  as  I  looked.  Aren't  you 
going  to  sit  down  ?  " 

"  Let  me  run  and  slip  on  a  kimono,"  she  pleaded. 
"  I'm  just  in  my  sleeping  gown,"  she  said,  like  one 
ashamed.  "  I  won't  be  a  minute." 

"  No,  I'm  going,  anyway." 

"  But  don't  go  angry.  Sit  there  by  the  window  a 
moment  till  I  can  partly  dress." 

"  No." 

"  You  shall  not  leave  me  angry.  Sit  down.  I  will 
be  with  you  in  an  instant." 

"  Put  down  the  claret  then  and  sit  down  yourself. 
If  you're  afraid  of  me  as  you  are,  go  to  bed." 

"  Don't  be  harsh  with  me.  I  will  sit  down."  She 
stepped  quickly  to  the  mantel  and  set  the  tumblers 
upon  it.  He  went  to  the  chair  at  the  window.  As 
he  sat  down  she  glided  past  the  hall  door  that  he  had 
closed  behind  him,  drew  it  wide  open  and  walking 
over  sat  down  at  his  side,  in  the  window  seat,  with  a 
determined  effort  at  ease ;  but  the  woman  shamed 
could  not  be  banished  from  her  attitude,  and  it  annoyed 
him ;  the  more  -because  he  knew  he  was  the  cause  of 
her  humiliation. 

"  What  have  you  opened  the  door  for  ?  "  he  asked 
shortly. 

"  It  makes  such  a  good  breeze  with  the  door  open ; 
don't  you  feel  it?" 

"  And  everybody  can  see  us  from  the  hall  ?  " 

"  Nobody  is  up  now." 

190 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  If  just  one  person  passes  there,"  he  pointed  de- 
liberately with  his  finger,  "  you  are  disgraced." 

"  Not  in  your  eyes." 

"  Will  you  disgrace  yourself  for  me,  and  yet  not  get 
a  divorce  and  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Do  I  disgrace  myself  by  sitting  here  as  you  bid 
me  ?  You  are  not  ashamed  of  me,  are  you  ?  " 

He  sulked. 

"  Answer  me,"  she  insisted. 

"  No." 

"  I  only  want  you  to  sit  here  for  a  minute  till  you 
can  think,"  she  urged.  "  I  tell  you,  you  must  not 
leave  me  in  anger.  You  must  not  go  to  sleep,  angry 
at  me.  I  tell  you  I  would  crawl  on  my  knees  through 
the  hall  after  you,  into  your  room  after  you,  but  you 
should  tell  me  you  are  not  angry  with  me." 

"  Well,  by  heaven,  I'm  not  going  to  sit  here  with 
that  door  open,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth.  "  If 
you  don't  care  anything  for  yourself,  I  care  something 
for  you."  Her  heart  bounded;  she  knew  she  was 
safe. 

"  Close  it  if  you  like,"  she  said,  indifferently.  He 
did  sulkily  close  the  door,  leaving  it,  as  he  had 
first  found  it,  a  few  inches  ajar.  When  he  came 
back  and  sat  down  she  slipped  off  her  seat  in  the  win- 
dow. 

"  I  am  not  so  afraid  of  the  appearance  of  disgrace," 
she  said,  kneeling  at  his  chair,  "as  disgrace  itself." 
She  spoke  low  and  fast.  "  I  could  stand  a  great  deal 
of  the  appearance  of  it  for  you."  She  caught  his 
hand  feverishly.  "  I  could  bear  disgrace  for  you.  I 
could  wear  a  scarlet  letter  for  you.  I  could  wear  it, 

191 


Doctor   Bryson 


yes,  I  could — for  your  child,  doctor.  But  when  I 
think  of  what  it  would  mean  to  this  other  child  for 
me  to  wear  it,  my  unhappy  little  girl,  whose  life  you 
have  saved  to  be  a  woman — born  in  my  wretched  wed- 
lock. When  I  think  of  a  scarlet  letter  and  her — " 
His  hand  fell  from  hers  and  she  hid  her  face. 

"  Oh,  hang  it !    Don't  talk  any  more  about  that." 

She  stopped  and  took  his  hand  again.  "  What  were 
you  doing?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"When?" 

"  When  I  came  in." 

"  Saying  my  prayers." 

"  I  never  saw  anybody  pray  like  that.  I  thought 
women  prayed  with  their  eyes  lifted  beautifully  up," 
he  said  harshly. 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  lift  mine  up." 

"  What  have  you  to  be  ashamed  of  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  may  tell  to  you." 

"  I  interrupted  you." 

"  Yes." 

"  You'd  better  go  back  and  finish." 

"May  I  finish  here?" 

Before  he  could  answer  or  protest  or  in  any  way 
avoid  it  she  sunk  at  his  side,  her  elbows  resting  on  his 
knee,  her  face  again  in  her  hands.  He  shifted  uneasily 
again  and  again,  all  save  the  knee  her  elbow  rested 
on,  but  she  did  not  release  it.  He  felt  shamefaced 
with  anger.  The  night  wind  puffed  softly  in  from 
the  yard,  but  it  was  very  still  outside.  When  at 
last  she  uncovered  her  face  she  took  up  his  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"  You're  crying,"  he  whispered,  staggered  in  an  in- 
192 


Doctor   Bryson 


•.tant  by  a  new  feeling-.  She  would  not  speak.  "  I 
hope  your  prayers  will  be  answered,"  he  added,  after 
a  moment,  haltingly.  "  I'm  going."  She  followed 
him  to  the  door  and  into  the  hall.  "  You  mustn't 
stand  here,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  surprised  and 
alarmed  at  her.  "  What  is  it  ?  What's  the  matter, 
Helen ;  are  you  insane  ?  Go  back  into  your  room,"  he 
whispered,  pushing  her  uplifted  hands. 

"  No — here.  Do  you  forgive  me  ?  "  she  asked,  cling- 
ing to  him. 

"For  what?" 

"  You  know  what.  You  know  I  can't  explain.  Do 
you  forgive  me,  I  say  ?  "  she  cried  under  her  breath, 
catching  at  his  sleeve. 

"  I  love  you,  you  know  that — and  I'm  just  a  man 
like  other  men,  you  know  that — now,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  You're  a  million  times  bigger,  braver,  more  gen- 
erous than  other  men." 

"  Go  into  your  room." 

"  No." 

"  Yes."  He  urged  her  back.  She  would  not  be 
put  away.  Looking  straight  into  his  eyes,  she  hesi- 
tated ;  then  with  all  her  courage  said,  "  Kiss  me." 

He  stooped  half  blinded.  "  Tell  me  you  forgive 
me,"  she  faltered.  His  lips  touched  her  forehead. 

"  I  do — you  give  me  all  you  can — " 

"  And  that  is  nothing — " 

"  Better  nothing  from  you  than  all  from  another," 
he  murmured  unsteadily.  "  Do  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  You  were  forgiven  before  you  touched  my  door, 
forgiven  in  the  thought  of  it,  a  thousand,  thousand 
times.  Good  night !  " 

They  turned  and  took  the  parted  ways. 

193 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  ELIOT  made  hardly  an  attempt  at  her 
breakfast.  It  was  Saturday,  her  free  day.  Ap- 
pearing after  the  men  had  gone  down  town,  she  sipped 
her  coffee  and  talked  with  June  of  the  intense  heat. 
Miss  Montague  did  not  come  down  to  breakfast,  and 
Mrs.  Eliot,  going  to  her  room,  found  her  indisposed. 

Mary  Montague  was  not  at  any  time  large.  Petite 
would  describe  her,  but  in  bed  she  looked  fairly  in- 
fantile. Her  hair  among  the  pillows  was  very  dark 
and  her  brown  eyes,  set  not  quite  regularly,  eyes  that 
spoke  of  wistfulness  and  work  rather  than  of  even  out- 
line— of  deep  beauty  rather  than  shallow — set  in  the 
thinness  of  her  French  face,  looked  darker  and  heavier 
than  they  really  were. 

"  What  is  it,  Mary,  are  you  sick,  child  ?  or  is  it  the 
heat  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eliot,  drawing  the  window  shade. 

"  It  must  be  the  heat,  I  suppose.  But  I  haven't  been 
really  well  ever  since  I  came  back  this  time.  I'm  just 
being  miserable  this  morning  all  by  my  lonesome." 

"  Have  you  had  something  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Nannie  brought  me  some  fruit  and  chocolate. 
And,  oh,  my  pill;  I  forgot  my  pill.  When  I  was  in 
Paris  this  spring  I  had  to  take  pills.  The  doctor 
said  my  blood  was  impoverished,  and  when  I  got  back 
here  and  began  to  run  down  again,  you  know  Doctor 
Bryson  prescribed  for  me  and,  wasn't  it  queer  ?  he  gave 
me  the  very  same  pills  my  Paris  doctor  did.  They  are 
made  in  Paris.  When  I  told  Doctor  Bryson  about  it 

194 


Doctor  Bryson 


he  was  quite  pleased.  He  thinks  so  highly  of  the  Paris 
doctors.  Have  you  had  your  breakfast?  Then  sit 
down,  do,  and  talk  a  while.  Oh,  I  am  as  lonesome  this 
morning  as — and  one  oughtn't  to  be  now — in  summer 
— with  birds  and  trees  and  grass.  I'm  going  to  run 
away  somewhere  into  the  country  pretty  soon." 

"  But  where  is  your  pill,  Mary  ?  Take  your  medi- 
cine first." 

"  Oh,  yes.  In  the  upper  left-hand  drawer  in  a  little 
bottle  with  a  green  label ;  the  upper  drawers  of  the 
escritoire,  dear;  right  there — " 

The  two  tiny  drawers  opened  side  by  side.  Mrs. 
Eliot,  by  mistake,  opened  the  right-hand  drawer.  It 
was  empty  save  for  a  miniature  which  lay  exposed  to 
the  eye,  a  portrait  of  Doctor  Bryson.  She  closed  the 
drawer  with  a  start.  The  picture  surprised  her  at  first, 
then  she  felt  faint;  so  faint  she  could  hardly  open  the 
second  drawer,  and  when  it  was  open  she  could  see 
nothing  in  it,  but  had  to  feel  with  her  hand  for  the 
bottle  of  pills.  A  totally  new  sensation  overwhelmed 
her.  Her  conclusions  grew  like  mushrooms  and 
weighed  like  stones  on  her  heart.  Mary  Montague, 
too,  loved  him ;  Mrs.  Eliot  felt  it  and  knew  it,  and  be- 
fore she  reached  the  side  of  the  little  artist  to  give  her 
the  innocent  pill,  jealous  rage  was  churning  in  her 
heart.  Fortunately,  Nannie  came  in  at  that  moment 
with  letters.  Mary  ran  them  over  and  cried,  "  Here's 
one  that  looks  like  wedding  cards." 

She  opened  that  envelope  first.  "  Yes,  cards,  Mrs. 
Eliot !  Look  there."  It  was  the  announcement  of  the 
marriage  of  Mrs.  Nellie  Westover  Ledgcott  to  Doctor 
Samuel  Reynolds  Kurd. 

195 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  She's  got  him,  hasn't  she  ? "  exclaimed  Mary, 
childlike  and  lovely.  "  No  matter.  I'll  take  the  pill  if 
it's  only  Kurd.  If  it  were  Doctor  Bryson  I'd  scratch 
her  eyes  out,"  she  added,  frankly. 

The  room  had  become  stifling  to  Mrs.  Eliot.  She 
said  she  must  write  some  letters  and  made  her  escape. 
But  from  what  she  had  seen  and  from  what  she  now 
knew  she  could  not  escape. 

The  same  cards  came  for  all  those  of  the  old  table  on 
Wabash  Avenue.  They  were  sitting  down  at  dinner 
that  evening  when  Doctor  Bryson  opened  his  envelope. 
He  read  the  full  names  of  the  contracting  parties  aloud 
and  with  a  mild  deliberation  to  John  Allison,  and  made 
but  a  single  comment.  "  Nellie  Westover  Ledgcott. 
It  would  be  better  legal  form  if  it  were  Nellie  Leftover 
Wedgcott,  wouldn't  it,  John  ?  "  he  asked,  lazily.  Then 
he  began  telling  humorous  stories  about  Kurd,  and 
forgetting  Kurd,  told  others  till  he  gradually  brought 
the  whole  table  into  good  humor  with  him;  for  that 
gift  he  had,  that  he  could  make  troubles  look  far  off 
and  slight  and  the  passing  life  good  and  near. 

While  they  were  eating,  Nannie  answered  the  door- 
bell twice.  A  little  while  after  they  had  gone  upstairs 
from  the  dining-room  Mrs.  Eliot  heard  the  doctor's 
light  double  tap  on  her  door.  He  held  out  an  armful 
of  La  France  roses. 

"  Aren't  they  pretty  ? "  he  asked,  without  looking 
her  in  the  eye. 

"  Oh,  beautiful !  " 

"  I  got  them  for  Miss  Montague.  Nannie  told  me 
this  morning  she  was  not  very  well  and  I  thought  these 
would  please  her." 

196 


Doctor   Bryson 


The  natural  thought  that  came  into  her  mind  as  he 
held  them  out  had  been  that  they  were  for  her ;  homage 
had  made  her  so  far  selfish.  When  he  said  his  roses 
were  for  Mary  Montague  she  was  conscious  again  of 
that  sudden  pang.  "  Take  them  right  up  to  her,"  she 
smiled,  sinking  inwardly  at  the  strange,  hateful  instinct. 
"  She  has  been  miserable  all  day.  Take  them  right  up." 

"  You  come  up,  too."  She  struggled  with  a  guilty 
joy  at  that  tone  from  him,  but  beside  it  rose  a  new  re- 
solve that  the  bitter  day  had  made  firm :  that  he  should 
have  a  chance  to  love  little  Mary  if  he  would ;  a  chance 
if  he  would,  she  had  said  to  herself  in  the  agony  of 
her  heart  a  score  of  times.  "  No,"  she  answered,  "  you 
take  them  yourself;  it  will  be  the  prettier  compliment. 
She  is  upstairs  now.'' 

Mary  met  him  prettily  as  all  grace.  "  Isn't  it  good  to 
have  friends  ?  "  she  cried,  bounding  across  the  room  for 
a  bowl  and  water.  "  This  morning,  oh,  I  was  so 
wretched ;  and  now  you  and  Mr.  Allison  have  both  re- 
membered me  with  flowers.  See,  he  sent  these  blos- 
soms ;  are  they  not  delicious  ?  And  now  I  have  a  bowl 
of  La  France  roses !  Beautiful !  Life  is  so  good  when 
it  is  good,  isn't  it?  Sit  a  few  minutes  over  there  by 
the  window — do.  The  air  sweeps  through  from  the 
bedroom.  This  is  the  chair  you  like." 

She  is  like  a  humming  bird,  he  thought,  as  he 
watched  and  listened — exquisite,  miraculous — yet  one 
does  not  love  a  sprite;  one  loves  a  woman,  he  said  to 
himself.  The  whole  case  called  up,  tried,  decided  in  a 
second — man's  verdict  on  woman  is  so  quick. 

Downstairs,  while  Bryson  was  chatting  with  Miss 
Montague,  Mrs.  Eliot  was  sitting  on  the  porch.  She 

197 


Doctor   Bryson 


sat  alone,  waiting  for  him  to  come  down  and  tell  her 
what  had  happened  during  the  day.  She  had  insensibly 
come  to  look  for  this,  and  his  stay  above  and  the  heat 
made  her  restless.  She  rose  presently  and  went  up- 
stairs, holding  her  lawn  skirt  between  her  thumb  and 
finger  like  a  cobweb.  She  closed  the  door  of  her  room, 
turned  on  the  gas  at  the  dresser,  and  looking  into  the 
mirror  dried  her  upper  lip  and  her  nose  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, for  the  heat  was  oppressive  and  her  skin 
moist.  She  opened  a  powder  box,  and  dipping  a 
corner  of  the  handkerchief  into  it,  touched  her  face 
here  and  there.  Her  hair  began  to  worry  her.  It 
would  not  behave  in  the  humid  atmosphere,  and  for  a 
time  she  fussed  petulantly  with  stray  locks  that  would 
neither  stay  in  curl  nor  in  place — and  thought  suddenly 
of  Mrs.  Ledgcolt's  wedding  cards  and  of  her  wedding. 
She  wondered  whether  Doctor  Bryson  had  come  down- 
stairs, and  picked  out  the  ruffles  of  her  waist  as  a 
bird  plumes  its  breast  after  a  bath.  Then  she  turned 
down  the  gas  and  walked  in  a  stately  daintiness  down 
the  stairs,  out  on  the  porch.  Doctor  Bryson  had  not 
come  down. 

She  seated  herself.  Something  of  intense  impulse 
throbbed  in  her  mood.  She  fell  at  once  to  wondering 
whether  he  had  come  down.  Possibly,  she  said,  he  had 
gone  out  or  he  had  ordered  the  team  and  was  going  to 
drive.  Would  he  ask  her  to  drive?  She  agreed  with 
herself  that  she  would  plead  a  headache.  Perhaps  he 
would  ask  Miss  Montague  to  go;  at  the  thought  she 
felt  the  extreme  heat  and  fanned  herself  uneasily. 

From  above  came  laughter.  She  fancied  she  recog- 
nized Mary's  and  his.  It  was  too  sultry  on  the  porch. 

198 


Doctor   Bryson 


Mrs.  Eliot  went  upstairs  to  her  room.  After  she  had 
closed  the  door  she  walked  mechanically  to  the  dresser, 
turned  on  the  gas  and  looked  into  the  glass.  Her  hair 
continued  to  annoy  her.  Again  and  again  she  put  it 
back  of  her  ears  and  patted  it  about  her  neck;  patted 
her  lips  again  with  her  handkerchief  and  studied  her 
face  a  moment  to  see  whether  she  was  "  breaking  " 
under  the  eyes.  He  had  told  her  once  how  to  tell  a 
woman  that  had  passed  thirty-five.  She  was  afraid 
she  would  "  break  "  long  before  that.  She  turned  the 
gas  low  again  and  sat  down  by  the  open  window. 

Back  rooms,  after  all,  were  not  nearly  so  comfortable 
as  front  rooms,  and  her  own,  she  knew,  were  nothing 
like  as  attractive  as  Mary's,  who  spent  a  little  fortune 
on  her  belongings.  The  back  rooms  were  cheaper,  yet 
they  cost  all  Mrs.  Eliot  could  afford,  and  she  wished 
she  were  able  to  earn  as  much  money  as  Mary  earned 
with  her  miniatures,  and  her  mind  ran  to  that  miniature 
in  the  escritoire  drawer.  Mary  loved  him. 

There  was  no  air  in  the  room.  She  rose  oppressed 
and  softly  opened  the  hall  door — enough  to  catch  the 
slight  breeze  from  the  stairway — thinking  as  she  did  so 
that  it  had  been  so  opened  for  the  air  with  the  otto- 
man placed  so  against  it  the  night  before  when  he 
had  come  in  with  the  claret.  And  she  felt  thirst  now 
and  she  would  have  drunk  claret  had  it  been  near,  for 
her  breath  wanted  to  come  quicker  than  she  would  let 
it,  and  her  struggle  with  the  thought  of  his  love  for  her 
was  pleasant.  She  felt  her  heart  beat  and  her  blood 
run  warm  and  languid,  and  she  liked  the  dimness  and 
the  night ;  but  Ruth  ?  She  wondered  what  Ruth  might 
be  doing.  Then,  like  a  borealis,  her  mind's  train 

199 


Doctor   Bryson 


shifted  to  last  night,  and  she  felt  he  must  be  angry. 
She  knew  he  must  be  angry,  for  he  had  never  before 
spent  a  whole  evening  in  the  house  away  from  her.  A 
bell  tolling  in  the  distance  caught  her  ear  and  suggested 
how  late  it  had  grown.  What  if  she  had  met  him  dif- 
ferently ?  But  the  heat  when  she  thought  of  last  night 
made  her  faint  and  she  put  her  mind  on  a  new  pupil, 
a  girl,  a  beautiful  girl,  who  had  come  to  her  on  Friday 
to  take  lessons  for  the  summer,  and  she  wished  she 
were  as  stately  as  that  girl,  and  listened  for  a  step  on 
the  stairs  coming  down — for  a  double  tap  on  her  door. 
He  always  tapped  twice  in  precisely  the  same  way. 
She  listened  for  it  till  the  silence  grew  insupportable. 
And,  of  a  sudden,  while  her  tortured  thoughts  wan- 
dered, the  tap  came. 

Her  heart  whirred  like  a  burglar  alarm,  but  her  voice 
fell  soft  as  dew.  "  Come."  As  Doctor  Bryson  pushed 
open  the  door  she  rose  with  a  delicate  surprise.  "  Oh, 
pardon  me,  doctor,"  said  she,  insincerely,  turning  up 
the  light  and  advancing,  "  I  thought  it  was  June — " 
He  held  a  basket. 

"  I've  brought  you  some  flowers." 

"  Me  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  taking  the  offering  hungrily. 
"  What  are  they  ?  "  She  lifted  one  of  the  leaves  that 
topped  the  basket.  "  Lilies  of  the  valley !  "  She  raised 
them  and  half  buried  her  face  in  their  fragrance. 
"  Lilies  of  the  valley,"  then  looking  up  at  him  as  she 
raised  her  face,  "  oh,  but  I  love  them,"  she  said,  fer- 
vently. "  I  love  them."  He  made  no  comment.  "  Does 
that  thank  you  ? "  she  murmured  in  low  confidence. 
He  was  silent,  only  smiling  slightly. 

200 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  Why  are  you  so  good  to  me,  doctor  ?  They  are  all 
in  moss ! " 

"  Because  I  love  you." 

She  knew  it  was  her  fault,  but  with  the  faintness  of 
the  lilies  in  her  heart,  she  let  the  words  sink  like  wine 
into  her  senses.  The  torture  she  felt  while  he  had  been 
with  the  woman  who  she  thought  loved  him  flushed 
into  the  hungry  joy  of  possession. 

"  I  hunted  all  over  town  for  these,"  he  added,  as  she 
contented  herself  with  merely  raising  the  frail  basket 
to  hide  her  eyes  from  his.  "  You  can  guess  why,  can't 
you  ?  "  She  inhaled  the  lilies'  odor.  "  To  plead  for 
my  forgiveness." 

He  could  not  know  she  did  not  want  to  hear  just 
that.  He  could  not  know  that  her  heart  beat  wild,  de- 
fiant, reckless  now.  If  he  had  noticed  her  breathing 
he  would  have  thought  it  painful  recollection,  not  sud- 
den rebellion,  that  stirred  her.  Had  the  light  shone  at 
that  moment  on  her  eyes  he  would  have  seen  in  their 
expression  what  he  never  had  seen  before ;  but  her  eyes 
were  in  shadow. 

"  Come  on  downstairs,"  he  suggested,  lightly.  "  It's 
cooler  on  the  porch,"  and  then,  half  laughing,  "  fasten 
some  lilies  at  your  throat  for  protection  against  the 
— night  air." 

"  Isn't  it  too  late  to  go  down  ?  "  she  murmured,  rais- 
ing a  doubt  that  asked  to  be  laid. 

"Late?  Why,  it's  only  eight  o'clock."  She  stifled 
an  exclamation. 

"  Eight  o'clock  ?  Surely  it's  long  after  ten,"  she 
cried,  stepping  hurriedly  to  the  table  to  pin  the  lilies. 

"  It's  just  eleven  minutes  past  eight,"  declared  the 
20 1 


Doctor  Bryson 


doctor,  holding  up  his  watch.    She  bent  in  low  laugh- 
ter. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  she  rippled,  laughing  the  last  word. 
"Come,  where  do  you  want  to  sit?  On  the  porch? 
Stay  a  moment,"  she  added,  "  you  must  wear  some  of 
these.  Here." 

She  ran  back  to  the  table,  took  a  spray  of  the  lilies 
from  the  basket  and  hurriedly,  like  a  child,  fastened 
them  to  his  coat,  bubbling  all  the  while  with  quick 
words  and  suppressed  bursts  of  mirth.  "  How  could 
I  have  made  such  a  mistake  about  the  time?  " 

"  You've  been  napping." 

"  Nonsense.  Asleep  ?  "  She  raised  her  eyes  with  an 
inconceivable  drollness.  "  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Well,  are  you  going  downstairs  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  wherever  you  want  me  to.  Lead  the 
way,  please  ?  "  They  walked  down  as  if  they  owned 
the  city.  At  the  vestibule  he  held  open  the  screen  like  a 
knight  and  she  glided  through  like  a  princess.  He 
took  a  hickory  chair;  she  drew  a  rocker  close  beside 
him  so  she  could  rest  the  toes  of  her  slippers  on  the 
side  rung  of  his  chair. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  leaning  well  for- 
ward, "  tell  me  everything  that  has  happened  to-day — 
everything." 

Bryson  leaned  back  as  if  he  found  himself  comfort- 
able for  the  first  moment  in  a  long,  hot  day.  "  I  con- 
gratulated Kurd,"  he  said,  wryly. 

"  Oh,  I  hate  him.    Don't  talk  about  him." 

"  I  fancy  I  hate  her,  don't  I  ?  " 

"How  should  I  know?" 
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Doctor   Bryson 


"  You  know  me  better — and  worse — than  anybody 
else." 

"  I  hope  never  to  prove  unworthy  of  your  precious 
confidence,"  she  whispered.  "  Now  go  on ;  tell  me 
something  else.  Anything;  trouble,  failure,  success, 
pleasure,  anything  so  it  is  yours.  If  it  isn't  yours,  don't 
tell  it.  Did  you  operate  to-day?  Are  you  very,  very 
tired  to-night  ?  Shall  I  make  you  some  lemonade  ?  " 

"  No."  He  spoke  with  so  dry  a  significance  that  she 
laughed.  Then  with  little  quips  and  sudden  playful- 
ness and  arch  clawing,  as  a  kitten  touches  up  a  musing 
cat,  she  coaxed  and  woke  him  up.  With  confidence 
again  between  them  Bryson  inclined  to  remorse.  She 
uttered  no  words,  but  there  are  moods  stronger  than 
words,  and  it  was  her  mood  to  resent  compunction. 
She  would  have  none. 

After  a  while,  mystified  by  her  unusual  liveliness,  he 
wanted  to  drive.  That  she  would  not ;  she  had  the  reins 
anyway.  By  ten  o'clock  he  was  determined  to  walk. 
To  this  she  consented  and  strolled  bareheaded  up  and 
down  the  block  with  him ;  then  over  to  the  boulevard, 
clinging  to  his  arm  and  making  him  tell  her  just  what 
Mary  had  to  say,  and  listening  between  words  for  every 
inflection  he  used  when  he  answered.  In  passing  a 
delicatessen  store  he  balked,  and  insisted  on  buying 
some  ice  cream.  She  let  him,  talking  while  he  was  be- 
ing served  with  the  chubby  German  woman  that  sat 
at  the  cash  register  and  wore  her  yellow  hair  braided  at 
an  alarming  tension.  The  doctor  came  forward  pres- 
ently with  two  paper  bucket  fills  of  cream,  and  heed- 
less of  her  ridicule,  carried  them  all  the  way  to  June's 
porch.  Joking  and  chaffing  together  they  groped  down 

203 


Doctor   Bryson 


to  the  dark  dining-room  for  dishes  and  spoons,  and 
sitting  together  long  after  the  street  grew  quiet  they 
gradually  ate,  to  the  very  last,  the  two  bucketfuls  of 
cream,  and  laughed  at  each  other.  She  poured  a  stream 
of  sprightly  gayety  into  her  quick  talk ;  she  spoke  and 
laughed  and  looked  abandon.  It  was  moist  and  hot  in 
her  hands  and  relaxed  in  her  neck,  and  it  flashed  in  her 
eyes  as  she  looked  languidly  into  his.  But  when  very 
late  she  wanted  at  last  to  retire  he  insisted  he  was  just 
waking  up  and  would  not  have  it.  She  began  to  won- 
der how  she  could  get  away :  now  feeling  she  ought  to 
and  must ;  now  careless  of  consequences  and  listening 
to  tones  that  lulled  her  like  poppy  at  his  side.  A  north 
wind  came  to  her  aid.  A  chill  swept  over  the  porch 
and  helped  her,  feverish  and  excited,  to  get  away  from 
his  clinging  hands  and  up  to  her  room.  It  was  not  till 
she  closed  the  door  with  a  laugh  on  her  lips  at  his  part- 
ing pantomime,  turned  on  the  light,  looked  in  the  glass, 
saw  the  reckless  beauty  reflected  there  that  she  started, 
frightened,  at  what  she  had  done  since  she  left  her 
room  four  hours  earlier,  and  she  turned  from  her  face 
as  from  a  sudden  wickedness. 

She  sat  down  on  the  side  of  her  bed  overcome  with 
horror  at  the  way  she  had  acted,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  that  evening.  She  saw,  alarmed,  for  the  first 
time  new  possibilities  in  her  nature.  Tossed  by  con- 
trary eddies,  now  one  way,  now  another,  she  seemed 
after  thinking  herself  safe  to  wake  on  the  edge  of  the 
whirlpool.  What  most  frightened  her  was  that  it  no 
longer  looked  black  and  awful.  Drowning  ?  It  is  only 
the  struggle  that  costs;  what  is  it,  after  all,  if  one 
gives  up?  It  made  her  giddy  and  sick  to  think.  She 

204 


Doctor  Bryson 


tore  the  gossamer  lawn  impatiently  from  her  shoul- 
ders; the  very  ruffles  of  her  nightrobe  looked  hateful. 
She  took  down  her  hair  with  her  conscience  burning. 
She  opened  a  drawer  for  a  hair  ribbon  and  caught  up 
in  her  fingers  one  of  Ruth's.  She  hesitated,  put  it 
aside  and  took  another;  then  as  she  put  out  the  light 
she  threw  herself  face  downward  on  her  child's  bed  and 
burst  into  flooding  tears.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
sorry;  she  was  not.  She  was  rebellious,  and  knew  it. 
Exhausted  at  last  with  torment  she  felt  the  chill  of  the 
wind  on  her  shoulders.  She  knew  she  ought  to  go  to 
bed,  but  lay  a  long  time  without  the  resolution  to  do 
so.  To  go  to  bed  meant  to  say  a  prayer,  and  that  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to.  There  was  no  prayer  in  her 
heart,  only  rebellion  and  despair.  Her  love  for  him, 
the  love  she  had  never  before  fully  acknowledged  to 
herself,  swayed  her  like  a  tempest,  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  tossed  Ruth.  Waking,  sleeping,  sick,  well  or  dying, 
the  child  would  not  leave  her  thoughts,  and  always  in 
the  gloom  stood  the  man  she  loved — waiting. 

She  tried  to  think  that  divorce  must  be  right.  To 
think  of  what  he  suffered,  loving  her  barred  from  him ; 
and  of  what  he  had  done  for  Ruth ;  and  that  she  her- 
self was  the  victim  of  insane  scruples.  But  always  she 
ended  in  the  smothered  horror  of  an  atmosphere  that 
she  hated  with  every  pure  instinct.  She  tried  to  class 
herself  with  divorced  women,  and  boarding-house 
women  and  hotel  women,  whose  very  proximity  she  de- 
tested, and  saw  her  daughter  growing  up  with  a  spot 
on  her  mother's  name.  Paint  it  as  she  would,  that 
would  not  stay  covered.  To  what  purpose  a  devoted 
husband,  such  as  she  knew  she  could  make  of  this 

205 


Doctor  Bryson 


strong  man  that  loved  her,  if  she  were  not  in  the  high- 
est worthy  of  devotion?  Of  what  use  a  pure  home, 
such  as  she  knew  she  could  make  for  him,  with  a  taint 
in  her  own  heart?  If  one  divorce,  why  not  another? 
Why  should  he  not  one  day  cast  her  off,  as  she  wanted 
now  to  cast  off  this  weakling  fettered  to  herself?  Mrs. 
Ledgcott  rose  before  her  in  all  her  detestableness — 
running  after  a  new  husband  while  her  boy  lay  dying 
in  a  boarding  house.  Ledgcott  himself  was  not  so 
heartless,  for  had  he  not  come  and  wept  over  his  dead 
child  and  begged  Mrs.  Ledgcott  to  come  to  Johnnie's 
side  as  the  boy  lay  dead  and  speak  to  him?  Had  not 
she,  Mrs.  Eliot  herself,  taken  the  pleading  from  the 
poor  devil  to  hear  it  scoffed  at  by  his  divorced  wife? 
And  now  with  her  boy  dead  this  woman  had  married 
another  man,  who  was  cruel,  avaricious  and  mean,  be- 
cause he  had  money  and  she  wanted  money. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  The  night  air 
was  cold,  the  tower  clocks  were  striking,  her  head 
throbbing.  She  could  not  count  whether  it  was  two  or 
three.  She  looked  out  on  the  stars  and  Ruth  came 
back  to  her  as  she  had  knelt  at  night  by  the  window 
and  pointed  to  them.  Tears  of  another  kind  welled 
into  her  eyes.  She  thought  of  last  night  and  of  that 
fearful,  fearful  coming ;  that  silent,  terrible  coming ;  of 
what  might  have  been  if  he  had  not  found  her  as  he 
did  find  her ;  of  what  might  have  happened  if  the  roses 
had  gone  last  night  to  Mary  Montague  instead  of  this 
night.  And  she  staggered  toward  her  bed  and  sank 
writhing  on  her  knees — moaning  for  pity  of  her  weak- 
ness ;  begging  that  her  burden  be  not  made  heavier  than 
she  could  bear. 

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CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  sun  of  the  next  morning  rose  on  a  very 
quiet  household  at  Miss  June's.  It  was  Sun- 
day and  shades  were  carefully  drawn  to  shut  out  the 
prettiest  part  of  the  day.  The  big  bowl  of  roses  in 
Mary  Montague's  room  lay  in  gloom  till  nine  o'clock ; 
at  that  hour  Mrs.  Eliot  raised  the  curtain,  and  while 
talking  lightly  to  Mary,  propped  among  the  pillows, 
touched  with  her  quick  ringers  the  roses  and  they 
took  urtfo  themselves  new  life.  She  was  freshening 
them  with  the  sole  thought  of  loving  them,  because 
they  were  his,  and  he  had  given  them  to  Mary.  She 
was  determined  this  morning  that  if  he  could  love 
Mary  he  should,  and  she  thought,  simple,  that  the  best 
way  to  bring  this  about  was  to  love  her  herself.  Nearly 
all  the  morning  she  spent  up  in  Mary's  room,  and  when 
the  little  artist  appeared  in  the  studio  in  cool  blues  and 
arranged  herself  in  a  couch  corner,  where  she  could 
look  from  over  a  marvelous  bar  of  white  mull  at  the 
situation,  Mrs.  Eliot  summoned  John  and  the  doctor, 
and  leaving  the  three  together  went  downstairs  to 
write,  she  said,  a  letter. 

Everyone  was  down  for  dinner  and  everyone  ap- 
parently cheerful.  But  after  dinner  until  evening  Mrs. 
Eliot  kept  her  room  with  the  plea  of  headache,  which 
Bryson  tried  unavailingly  to  break  up  with  advice  and 
inquiries  and  prescriptions,  to  all  of  which  Mrs.  Eliot 
was  provokingly  unresponsive.  When  he  insisted  that 

207 


Doctor   Bryson 


nothing  would  do  her  head  so  much  good  as  a  drive 
in  the  park,  she  thought  Miss  Montague  needed  the 
air  more  than  she  did.  Thereupon  he  took  Miss  Mon- 
tague to  drive.  When  he  returned  and  inquired  about 
the  headache,  and  again  recommended  fresh  air,  Mrs. 
Eliot  asked  why  he  didn't  take  John  out.  He  took 
John  out.  Later  he  suggested  that  the  sun  was  just 
low  enough  to  make  the  evening  perfect  and  invited 
Mrs.  Eliot  to  take  a  turn  behind  the  horses,  at  least  as 
far  as  the  Midway.  It  was  then  that  she  suggested 
giving  Miss  June  an  airing,  and  Doctor  Bryson  took 
Miss  June  is  sepulchral  finery  up  and  down  Drexel 
Boulevard.  When  he  brought  June  in  and  the  horses 
champed  again  at  the  curb  he  knocked  once  more  at 
Mrs.  Eliot's  door. 

"  I  understand,"  said  he  thoughtfully,  "  the  maid 
is  out.  It's  her  day  off.  There  is  no  one  else  about 
the  house  now  except  you  and  the  cook.  If  you 
think  best,"  he  added,  calmly,  "  I'll  take  Julie  next ; 
then,  possibly,  if  I  come  back  you'll  go  yourself." 

"Are  not  the  horses  tired,  doctor?"  she  smiled  ap- 
pealingly. 

"  It  is  a  fresh  team.  Come  now,  do.  I  wouldn't 
urge  you  if  I  didn't  know  it  would  do  more  to  quiet 
your  nerves  than  anything  else  in  the  world."  She 
put  on  her  hat.  When  they  had  driven  a  block  he  dis- 
covered she  had  no  wrap.  Nothing  would  do  but  that 
they  must  drive  back  and  he  ran  in  and  up  to  her  room 
after  it. 

They  drove  leisurely  to  the  Midway  and  walked  the 
horses  through  Jackson  Park.  Turning  north  from 
the  caravels  the  evening  air  blew  cool  off  the  lake. 

208 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Now  is  the  time  for  your  jacket,"  said  he,  holding 
the  reins  in  one  hand  while  he  held  the  coat  in  the 
other.  "  This  is  the  moment  I  brought  it  for." 

She  knew  she  ought  to  thank  him,  but  she  did  so 
faintly.  "If  that  air  doesn't  help  your  headache  there's 
no  virtue  in  ozone.  What  have  you  been  doing,  writ- 
ing letters  all  day  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  two." 

"To  whom?" 

"  Mrs.  Goddard  and  Ruth." 

"  There's  nothing  like  that  northern  air.  This  is  a 
taste  of  it  you  get  right  now.  Do  you  feel  that?  It 
will  be  the  making  of  Ruth." 

"  I  wrote  Mrs.  Goddard  to  send  her  down  Thurs- 
day when  Mr.  Goddard  comes." 

"What?" 

"  I  wrote  Mrs.  Goddard  to  send  Ruth  down." 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  he  asked 
in  astonishment.  "  That's  the  worst  thing  possible 
to  do.  Bring  her  back  in  all  this  heat — before  she's — 
what  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"  Perhaps  I  was  selfish.  I  hope  not.  I  am  so  lonely 
without  her — " 

He  made  no  reply. 

All  day  she  had  dreaded  the  telling,  and  not  without 
reason.  He  said  nothing;  but  his  anger  grew  like  a 
cloud  and  she  could  feel  it  as  distinctly  as  she  could  see 
the  German  Building,  brilliant  and  noisy  on  the  left. 

"  Doesn't  this  remind  you  of  the  World's  Fair  ?  "  she 
asked  tentatively. 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  they  ever  be  able  to  do  anything  to  preserve 
209 


Doctor   Bryson 


that  building?"  she  inquired  as  he  swung  the  horses 
at  a  higher  speed  around  and  past  the  Field  Museum. 

"  No." 

Twice  again  she  made  an  effort  to  talk,  but  he  un- 
bent no  further.  When  she  thanked  him  with  all  the 
gentleness  at  the  curb,  as  he  handed  her  from  the 
spider,  he  only  lifted  his  hat — in  his  derby  and  loose 
driving  gloves  and  his  long  light  driving  coat  he  was 
certainly  handsome — and  bowing,  he  spoke  to  the 
horses  and  drove  up  the  street. 

For  two  people  unused  to  concealing  their  feelings 
they  kept  their  secret  for  a  few  days  very  well.  But 
by  Thursday  even  June  perceived  that  a  cloud  had 
settled  on  the  gallant  doctor.  Nor  did  Ruth  come  by 
the  Thursday  boat.  Mrs.  Goddard  wrote  that  her  hus- 
band would  not  come  down  until  the  heat  moderated. 

After  the  first  strain  of  the  situation  on  Mrs.  Eliot 
wore  away,  she  perceived  one  thing  incumbent  on  her : 
to  make  the  advances.  It  was  only  a  question  with 
her  of  waiting  until  it  would  avail  to  break  the  ice,  for 
she  saw  that  to  let  him  do  so  would  be  to  give  him  such 
a  tactical  advantage  as  to  make  her  last  state  worse 
than  her  first. 

One  night  he  came  home  to  dinner  unusually  late. 
June  had  gone  to  the  market  to  quarrel  with  her 
butcher,  the  dining-room  was  deserted,  and  Mrs.  Eliot, 
when  she  heard  the  doctor  going  to  dinner,  left  the 
porch  and  followed  him  downstairs. 

"  You  are  late  to-night,"  said  she,  passing  straight 
through  to  the  kitchen  as  he  bowed,  seated  himself  and 
tapped  the  bell.  There  was  a  moment's  delay  in  the 
serving.  His  dinner  was  not  quite  hot  enough  to  suit 

210 


Doctor   Bryson 


Mrs.  Eliot,  and  she  took  hold  at  the  range  herself  be- 
fore the  dishes  were  allowed  to  go  in.  Julie  brought 
from  the  ice  box  the  special  portion  of  lettuce  that  Mrs. 
Eliot  earlier  had  seen  reserved,  and  after  it  was  ready 
to  be  sent  in  Mrs.  Eliot  returned  to  the  dining-room 
and  seated  herself  at  the  table  near  Doctor  Bryson. 
Nannie  placed  the  lettuce,  a  royal  dish  of  it,  in  front  of 
her,  and  Mrs.  Eliot  without  ado  began  preparing  the 
doctor's  salad,  he  meantime  being  much  absorbed  in  a 
thick  whitefish  steak. 

Mrs.  Eliot  dried  and  shredded  the  leaves  with  com- 
posure. The  oil,  the  salt,  the  slices  of  lemon,  the 
grated  Roquefort  and  the  pepper  were  arranged  be- 
fore her. 

"  I  can  never  remember,  doctor,  whether  it  is  the 
salt  or  the  lemon  next  ?  "  she  asked  presently,  lifting 
her  eyes  under  her  brows. 

"  The  salt,"  he  answered,  sulkily. 

"  Is  this  oil  as  good  as  that  you  brought  home  last 
time  from  the  office  ?  " 

"  No." 

"June  said  it  was  the  best  she  could  buy."  No 
answer.  "  The  oil  you  brought  was  exceptionally  fine. 
Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  From  a  friend." 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  asked,  mildly  curious,  "  June 
can't  buy  oil  as  good  as  that?  " 

"  I  trust  you  don't  suppose  I'd  be  carrying  olive  oil 
home  myself  if  it  was  the  kind  you  can  buy  at  stores." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  like  you,"  and  after  a  pause,  "  Who 
was  it  you  told  me  gave  it  to  you  ?  " 

ft  A  friend." 

211 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  How  did  your  friend  happen  to  get  hold  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  imports  it." 

"  Oh !  Is  that  enough  juice,  I  wonder?  "  she  asked, 
squeezing  a  slice  of  lemon  over  the  mixture.  "  I  had  a 
letter  from  Mrs.  Goddard  this  morning."  No  com- 
ment, unless  a  sudden  and  vigorous  salting  of  the 
whitefish  could  be  so  construed.  "  She  says  Mr.  God- 
dard will  not  be  down  till  next  week." 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  more  sense  than  to  think  of  com- 
ing back  to  Chicago  in  heat  like  this.  There  were  nine 
deaths  from  sunstroke  to-day  and  thirty-three  prostra- 
tions. Did  you  go  down  town  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  gave  five  lessons." 

"  You  shouldn't  have  gone  out  of  the  house." 

"  I  didn't  feel  the  heat  much.  There's  a  breeze  out 
on  the  porch,"  she  added,  when  some  minutes  later  he 
had  finished.  "  It  is  the  coolest  place  I've  found  since 
dinner." 

John  Allison  had  the  general  manager's  car  out  that 
night  with  a  trolley  party,  but  Mrs.  Eliot  had  begged 
off  and  Bryson  admitted  bluntly  he  was  tired.  When  he 
came  from  his  room  he  joined  Mrs.  Eliot  on  the  porch. 
They  talked  little  as  they  sat  together  and  there  were 
long  intervals  of  absolute  silence ;  but  in  the  darkness 
and  the  relief  from  the  heat  of  the  day  there  was  com- 
panionship even  in  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  determined  to  bring  Ruth  back," 
he  remarked,  after  a  long  period  of  reflection. 

"  I  determined  that  I  ought  to  before  I  wrote  for 
her." 

"  I  understand,  of  course,  why  you  do  it." 

"  If  you  quite  understood,"  said  she,  laying  just  a 
212 


Doctor  Bryson 


bare  stress  on  the  third  word,  "  you  would  feel  neither 
annoyed  nor  aggrieved." 

"  I  have  no  right,  in  any  event,  to  feel  either ;  but  I 
don't  seem  to  be  able  to  help  it." 

"  You  have  earned  the  right  to  feel  solicitous  be- 
cause you  saved  her  life.  Who  could  have  a  better 
right?  It  surely  is  not  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to 
bring  her  back  now.  If  I  do  it,  it  is  because  I  consider 
her  own  welfare  first  of  all,  doctor." 

"  I  merely  make  the  point  that  it  is  unnecessary," 
said  he,  stiffly. 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  My  word  ought  to  carry  some  weight— even  with 
you." 

"  It  carries  more  than  anybody's  in  the  world." 

"  Then  when  I  tell  you  not  to  bring  her  back  you 
should  not  do  it."  Mrs.  Eliot  made  no  reply.  "  For 
you  still  to  feel  that  you  need  a  protector,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  is  a  humiliation  I  didn't  think  you  would  put 
on  me." 

"  I  put  none  on  you,  doctor ;  indeed,  I  do  not." 

"  You  say  you  don't,  but  you  do." 

"  If  there  is  any  I  put  it  on  myself." 

"  Mere  evasion,"  he  muttered. 

"  It  is  not,"  she  protested.  "  I  have  been  sincere 
with  you." 

'•  And  have  I  not  with  you? "  he  demanded,  fiercely. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  know  and  I  know  that  you  bring  back 
Ruth  at  the  risk  of  her  health  because  you  are  afraid 
of  me." 

"  You  misjudge  me." 

213 


Doctor   Bryson 


He  gave  an  incredulous  exclamation:  one  of  those 
that  cost  so  little  and  cut  so  deep. 

"  I  can  only  repeat,  you  misjudge  me,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  And  I  can  only  repeat,  you  fear  me." 

"  It  is  not  you  I  fear." 

"Pray  who  then?" 

"  Can  you  be  cruel  enough  to  make  me  say  it  ? " 
Something  in  her  tone  silenced  him.  At  her  breaking 
utterance  he  felt  suddenly  overwhelmed.  "  If  you  can," 
he  could  not  see  that  tears  were  no  longer  dropping 
from  her  cheeks,  nor  that  her  face  was  burning,  "if  you 
can — then  may  the  darkness  hide  my  shame — I  humil- 
iate myself  before  you  to  say  I  fear  myself." 

When  he  could  speak,  "  Helen,"  he  pleaded,  "  I 
swear  to  you  I  had  no  more  idea  than  a  babe  unborn 
what  you  were  going  to  say.  I  did  not  mean  to 
humiliate  you.  I  would  rather  give  my  right  hand  than 
cause  you,  knowingly,  one  minute's  pain." 

"  I  know  that,"  she  answered,  calmly ;  "  it  is  I  who 
am  to  blame  in  this  whole  matter." 

"  No." 

"  Yes,  I ;  and  God  will  send  some  fearful  punishment 
upon  me  for  it.  I  deserve  this  and  more."  She  rose. 
"  Good  night." 

"  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,  believe  me."  He 
was  hanging  on  her  steps.  "  Forgive  me  if  you  can." 

Going,  she  whispered,  "  Yes."  And  at  the  door, 
"Yes;  good  night." 

The  next  week  did  not  bring  Ruth. 

"  She  is  doing  so  well,  my  dear,"  wrote  Mrs.  God- 
dard,  "  that  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  take  her 

214 


Doctor   Bryson 


back  to  that  pot  of  a  town  while  it  is  so  hot.  I  just  told 
Mr.  Goddard  he  should  not  do  it.  Doctor  Bryson,  I 
know,  would  never  approve  of  it.  Now  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  can  do.  If  you  want  to  see  Ruth  you  just 
get  on  the  boat  and  come  up  here  to  Grand  Bay  your- 
self for  the  rest  of  the  season  and  see  her  grow  big  and 
brown  and  dig  in  the  sand.  It  is  only  six  weeks  till  we 
all  go  back.  Now  don't  write,  but  come." 

Mrs.  Eliot,  between  smiling  and  tears,  read  the 
whole  letter  aloud  at  the  dinner  table.  Everybody 
cried  go.  Doctor  Bryson,  non-committal  at  first,  joined 
next  morning  in  urging  her  to  go.  "  It  will  give  you 
a  new  lease  on  life,"  he  said  to  her.  "  You  need  it. 
This  heat  breaks  down  a  woman  quicker  than  it  does 
a  man.  She  shouldn't  be  brought  back ;  you  go  and 
see  her.  You  can  get  away  now  for  six  weeks,  and 
you  will  come  back  another  woman.  I  don't  mean 
that,  either.  Come  back  the  same  woman,"  he 
laughed,  "  only  stronger." 

June  urged.  Everybody  urged.  The  opportunity 
seemed  precise.  Mrs.  Eliot  said  she  would  go. 

Her  preparations  were  made  within  the  week. 

"  Don't  buy  any  tickets,"  remarked  Doctor  Bryson 
one  evening  to  her.  "  I'll  attend  to  the  transporta- 
tion." 

"  I  shan't  let  you  buy  any  tickets,  doctor ;  I  mean  it," 
she  said  in  alarm.  "  You  shall  not  do  it,  remember. 
I  will  buy  them  myself." 

"  Now,  keep  perfectly  cool.  I'm  not  going  to  buy 
any  tickets.  I  shall  get  you  passes ;  they  won't  cost 
me  anything ;  I  will  merely  save  you  that  much  money. 
You  don't  object  to  that,  do  you?" 

215 


Doctor  Bryson 

"  You  have  a  kind  heart.    Sometime  you  will  be  re- 
warded for  it — " 

"  Gad,  I  hope  so,"  he  said  grimly. 
"  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  to-night." 
"All  right ;  we'll  go  driving  then." 
"  For  the  last  time." 
He  started.    "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
She  smiled  faintly.     "The  boat  may  sink;  I  may- 
be drowned." 

"  Don't,  for  Heaven's  sake,  joke  about  things  like 
that.  Come,  eat  a  good  dinner  and  you'll  feel  better." 
The  team  was  at  the  door  at  seven  o'clock  and  they 
got  an  early  start.  It  was  a  mild  evening.  The  bou- 
levard was  cool,  not  crowded,  and  the  clank  of  the 
pole  chains  in  the  prosperous  sunset  sounded  satisfy- 
ing. 

"  What  did  you  want  to  talk  about?"  he  asked,  eas- 
ing the  horses  down  as  they  swung  into  the  Midway. 
"  About  you  and  me." 

"  I  don't  know  of  two  more  interesting  subjects." 
"  I  have  been  thinking." 
"  You  shouldn't ;  it's  too  hot." 
"  We  are  in  a  frightful  situation." 
"  These  people  riding  by  would  never  suspect  it." 
"  I  wish  I  could  meet  your  good  spirits." 
"  Do." 

"  I  can't  to-night.  I  must  tell  you  what  we  must 
do.  The  path  we  are  on  will  end  in  unhappiness  and 
ruin  for  you  and  for  me." 

"Then  for  God's  sake  get  a  divorce  and  have  done 
with  it.  Let  me  marry  you." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  marry  you,  and  you  have  none 
216 


Doctor   Bryson 


to  marry  me  while  my  husband  lives.  Divorce  would 
only  brand  that  on  my  heart.  I  should  feel  just  as 
criminal ;  it  would  be  just  as  criminal.  Doctor,  I 
cannot.  I  have  struggled — tried  to  force  myself  into 
thinking  it — I  cannot.  And  yet  I  have  fastened  to 
your  heart,  your  good  generous  heart,  like  a  parasite, 
and  I  take  the  affection  that  should  go  to  a  free 
woman.  And  I  know  it  all,  and  wring  my  hands — 
and  drift.  Is  it  not  frightful  ?  Oh,  frightful !  " 

"  My  dear  one,  you  are  in  a  highly  nervous  condi- 
tion. This  is  the  result  of  unnecessary  worry." 

"No;  inevitable  remorse.  I  know  what  it  is.  I 
know  my  duty.  You  have  done  everything  that  one 
rich  and  generous  and  strong  can  do  for  one  poor 
and  weak.  I  know  my  duty  now  and  I  want  you  to 
help  me  do  it.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  make  you  happy." 

"  When  I  come  back  I  am  going  to  Evanston  to 
live.  That  is  the  first  thing.  Your  home  is  with 
Miss  June  and  you  will  stay  with  her.  I  must  go 
away,  and  I  shall.  I  don't  want  to  say  you  are  never 
to  come  to  see  me — " 

"  Humph ! " 

"  But  under  different  roofs  people  can  think  differ- 
ently; under  one,  placed  as  you  and  I  are,  we  can't. 
It  would  be  best,  perhaps,  if  we  could  each  say  we 
would  not  meet  again.  But  I  know  how  easy  it  is  to 
promise  one's  self  more  than  can  be  kept.  Other  in- 
terests will  come  into  your  life,  and  at  the  very  least 
we  shall  meet  less  often ;  that  will  make  it  easier." 

"  Something  like  cutting  a  dog's  tail  off  an  inch  at 
a  time." 

217 


5?  Doctor  Bryson 

"  It  will  be  a  step,  and  when  the  way — is  heavy — 
and  the  feet  weak— one  step  is  something.  It  is  for 
you  I  ask  it;  for  you  as  well  as  Ruth.  You  two  are 
the  real  sufferers.  You  both  have  life  ahead;  my 
life  is  behind.  I  am  nothing ;  only  a  dead  limb.  You 
are  strong.  Will  you  help  ?  " 

"You  think  I  am  strong?"  He  smiled  faintly. 
"Strong?  I'm  a  baby  in  your  hands.  Strength?" 
Resting  the  elbow  of  the  rein  arm  on  his  knee,  and 
clasping  with  one  hand  the  lazy  back  behirici  her,  he 
looked  full  into  her  face.  "  Just  the  sight  of  your  eyes 
takes  the  last  particle  of  strength  out  of  me.  I  may 
be  strong  in  some  ways ;  not  against  you.  You  make 
me  weak  and  faint.  You  are  chloroform  to  me  until 
I  drink  in  all  your  sweetness;  then  I  go  raging.  I 
have  no  strength  against  you,  dear  one;  what's  the 
use  pretending?  I  take  a  magnet — so  big  you 
couldn't  lift  it — and  with  it  pull  a  particle  of  steel — so 
small  you  couldn't  see  it — out  of  a  man's  eye.  And 
you — little  weak  you,  such  a  tiny  magnet — with  the 
mere  raising  of  a  pair  of  eyelids  strip  me  of  the  whole 
armor  I  fight  the  battle  of  life  with.  You  say  I  have 
my  life  before  me.  Be  it  so;  my  life  is  wholly  in 
your  hands;  that's  the  situation.  You  talk  of  other 
interests — there  are  none." 

"  Your  profession,  your  success,  your  fame — " 
"  What  are  they  without  you  ?  What  do  they 
mean  to  me?  I've  starved  myself  and  worked  like  a 
slave  to  get  where  I  am,  haven't  I  ?  You  know  that, 
for  I've  told  you  everything  that  ever  happened  to 
me — some  things,  perhaps,  I  oughtn't  to  have  told 
you.  But  you  come  near  knowing  it  all.  And  the 

218 


Doctor   Bryson 


first  time  I  set  eyes  on  you  at  the  water  cooler  some- 
thing went  out  of  me  to  you.  I  can't  explain  it;  I 
felt  it,  that's  all.  You  don't  know  even  yet,  because 
I  didn't  want  to  make  it  seem  anything,  what  a  fear- 
ful time  I  had  with  Kurd  to  force  him  out  of  Ruth's 
case.  I  did  it  as  coldly  as  a  wolf  would  drive  a  coy- 
ote from  a  wounded  antelope.  I  knew  you  had  no 
money;  it  couldn't  have  been  avarice,  could  it?  I  was 
determined  to  have  something  to  do  with  you,  and  I 
lay  awake  night  after  night  figuring  how  to  save  that 
child's  eye  after  the  whole  faculty  had  said  it  couldn't 
be  done." 

"  You  know — you  know  how  I  bless  you  for  it?  " 
"  I'm  not  leaning  on  it  for  credit.  I  don't  deserve 
any  credit.  It's  the  motive  I'm  telling  you  of.  I  did 
it  all  only  to  please  you.  That's  the  exact  truth; 
that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  enjoyed  my  success  be- 
cause it  drew  me  to  you.  All  the  pleasure  I  get  out 
of  success  and  money  is  to  bring  it  before  you — to 
tell  you  about  it  and  hear  you  say  what  a  devil  of  a 
fellow  I  am.  You  say  the  fault  that  we've  drifted  to- 
gether is  all  yours.  That's  because  you're  innocent, 
dear  one.  You  don't  know  a  fraction  of  what  I've 
done  to  make  it  come  so  and  bind  you  to  me.  Don't 
cry;  I  can't  stand  it  to  see  you  cry,  unless  I  might 
kiss  away  your  tears.  I  get  thirsty  for  them  nights 
when  I  lie  awake  and  you're  asleep,  and  I  want  to  go 
to  your  room  and  kiss  them  off  your  cheeks.  I  came 
awfully  near  doing  it  one  night — not  that  night,  but 
another  night  you  don't  know  anything  about." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  in  that  way.     Sit  around  straight 
again,  do,  please." 

219 


Doctor  Bryson 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  wooded  island, 
the  night  air  drev;  in  swift  off  the  lake,  and  under  the 
leash  of  his  iron  hand  the  sleek  horses  rocked  in  their 
trappings  like  the  tiny  yachts  bobbing  in  the  offing. 

"  Do  you  ever  realize,"  he  went  on,  "  what  you've 
done  for  me?  Half  my  education  has  been  of  you. 
You've  taught  me  even  what  kind  of  clothes  to  wear, 
haven't  you?  I  mean,  told  me  when  I  asked  you, 
what  was  good  taste  and  what  bad.  I  didn't  know 
what  colors  were  till  you  taught  me.  Every  day  I 
use  hints  you  drop  about  the  thousand  finer  things  of 
life,  things  about  books  and  pictures  and  men  and 
manners;  things  I  never  had  the  chance  to  learn  till 
you  taught  me.  Do  you  really  think  you  owe  me  any- 
thing ?  Not  a  thing.  I  owe  you  everything. 

"  And  now — what  do  you  propose  ?  To  root  it  all 
up  ?  Can  it  be  done  ?  I  doubt  it.  At  the  same  time 
I  realize  how  this  strain  is  wearing  on  you.  It  pulls 
sometimes  on  me,  and  I'm  not  going  to  see  you  worn 
to  a  nervous  wreck  with  it.  I  love  you  too  much  to 
do  anything;  mark  me — anything — that  would  hurt 
you.  I  have  seen  how  you  have  failed  lately  because 
it's  my  business  to  see  such  things  in  anybody,  and 
I  shouldn't  be  likely  to  miss  it  in  you.  Anything  you 
please  to  ease  the  strain  on  you  I'll  agree  to.  But 
when  you  talk  of  my  giving  you  up — I  might  as  well 
give  up  the  whole  game,  just  exactly.  Profession, 
fame?  What  are  they  without  you?  Nothing;  not 
a  thing.  Do  you  say  you  are  dead,  dear  one  ?  Dead  ? 
Then  move  over  a  little  in  your  grave,  please,  and 
give  me  a  chance  to  crawl  in  next  to  you.  That's  all 
I  want ;  I'm  not  looking  for  the  earth." 

220 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

IT  was  morning  at  the  office  of  Dr.  Bryson,  Surgeon- 
in-chief  of  the  Eye  at  the  Laflin  College,  and 
things  were  strained.    Jim  had  come  in  from  Rush 
Street  with  the  boat  transportation,  and  it  was  not 
right. 

"  Did  you  tell  Mitchell  I  wanted  passes?"  demand- 
ed Doctor  Bryson,  glaring  at  the  tickets  and  at  his 
messenger. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  contended  Jim.  "  He  said  these  were 
the  same  things." 

"  Take  them  back  and  tell  him  I  don't  want  his 
tickets.  If  he  can't  give  me  what  I  ask  for  he  can 
go  to  the  devil !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  angrily. 

But  Mr.  Edward  Mitchell,  besides  being  an  ex- 
member  of  the  Annex  set,  a  particular  friend  of  Doctor 
Bryson  and  treasurer  of  the  Northland  Navigation 
Company,  was  likewise  a  philosopher.  When  he  re- 
ceived Bryson's  message,  in  no  degree  softened  by  the 
messenger,  he  jumped  into  a  cab  and  came  over  to  the 
College  with  Jim. 

"  You  said  I  could  go  to  the  devil,  Harry,"  re- 
marked Mitchell,  greeting  Bryson,  affably,  "  and  I 
came  as  fast  as  a  horse  would  carry  me.  Now  what 
are  you  kicking  about?  You  sent  for  transportation 
for  one  to  Grand  Bay  and  return — " 

"  I  sent  for  a  pass  for  one  to  Grand  Bay  and  re- 
turn ;  you  sent  tickets." 

221 


Doctor   Bryson 

"  They'll  carry  you  just  as  far  as  passes,  won't 
they?" 

"I  don't  want  tickets.  If  I'd  wanted  tickets,  I'd 
have  bought  tickets.  I  wanted  passes." 

"My  dear  fellow,  as  long  as  they  don't  cost  you 
anything,  there's  no  difference  whatever,"  began  Mit- 
chell suavely,  for  Bryson  was  not  perceptibly  cooling. 

"  Look  here,"  cut  in  the  surgeon,  shortly,  "  you 
fellows  over  there  have  been  jollying  me  for  two 
years  about  wanting  to  do  something  for  me,  haven't 
you?  You've  sent  me  passes  over  here  again  and 
again,  haven't  you?  To  Duluth  and  to  Buffalo  and 
the  Saulte  and  the  deuce  knows  where.  I  never  rode 
on  one  of  your  infernal  old  boats — " 

"  Don't  mind  the  treasurer's  feelings." 

"  And  I  never  will." 

"  You're  dead,  doctor,  but  not  buried,  remember." 

"  I  wanted  these  passes  for  a  friend  of  mine  that's 
going  up  to-morrow,  and  I  wanted  passes,  not  tickets." 

"  I  see,  doctor.  The  fact  is,  we've  gone  into  an 
ironclad  agreement  with  all  the  lake  lines  not  to  issue 
passes  this  season;  that's  why  I  couldn't  send  you 
what  you  wanted.  But  I  will  do  it.  Calm  yourself. 
It  shall  be  done,  if  we  bu'st  the  whole  condemned  as- 
sociation. Let  your  boy  come  over  with  me." 

"  I'm  putting  you  to  a  whole  lot  of  trouble,  Ed," 
said  Bryson  apologetically. 

"  Not  a  bit ;  no  trouble  at  all.  I  wouldn't  lie  about 
a  little  thing  like  that." 

"  How  are  the  old  man's  eyes,  Ed  ?"  asked  the  doc- 
tor, taking  new  ground  calmly. 

"  He  can  see  a  trout  in  ten  feet  of  water.  Egad,  if 
222 


Doctor  Bryson 


you  hadn't  fixed  him  out  he'd  have  sold  the  line  and 
I'd  been  out  of  a  job." 

Bryson  laughed.  "  You've  got  too  much  money 
now,  Ed." 

"  He  wants  you  to  go  on  the  Nepigon  in  Septem- 
ber, doctor.  Say,  do  you  think  the  cataracts  will  ever 
come  back  on  him  ?  " 

"  No.     How  are  your  wife's  glasses  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  such  a  thing  as  having  too  much  of 
a  good  thing,  you  know.  She  says  she  can  see  clean 
through  my  pocketbook  with  them." 

"  If  that's  the  case  we'd  better  give  her  a  weaker 
pair  of  lenses,"  laughed  Bryson.  "  How's  the  yacht?  " 

Mitchell's  face  brightened  like  a  boy's.  "  Harry, 
she's  the  prettiest  thing  afloat ;  the  prettiest  craft  on 
the  lakes,  and  bar  none.  I  claim  to  know  something 
about  boats — " 

"  You  ought  to—" 

"  When  you  get  tired  of  life  just  take  one  week  on 
'  The  Sweetheart '  with  me.  I'll  make  you  wish  you 
could  live  a  hundred  years,"  declared  Mitchell,  break- 
ing away. 

"  Ed,  I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you.  Sorry  to  have  put 
you  to  all  this  trouble,"  apologized  Bryson,  following 
the  affable  steamboat  man  out. 

"  If  I  don't  get  even  with  you,  it's  not  my  fault," 
retorted  Mitchell.  "Try  hard,  anyway.  Good  bye. 
God  bless  you." 

An  hour  later,  at  the  risk  of  shattering  the  passen- 
ger agreement,  the  transportation  arrived.  This  time 
it  was  in  due  form,  and  Doctor  Bryson  examined  it 
with  satisfaction.  He  left  his  office  early  in  the  after- 

223 


Doctor  Bryson 

noon.  When  he  walked  upstairs  at  Miss  June's,  Mrs. 
Eliot's  door  was  thrown  wide  open  and  her  trunk 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  June  and  she,  in 
the  middle  of  chairs  and  tables  and  couches  strewn 
with  the  plumage  of  woman,  looked  flushed.  It  was 
the  packing. 

Mrs.  Eliot's  face  lighted  girlishly.  "  Don't  look 
in,  doctor,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It's  confusion  worse 
confounded.  If  Miss  June  hadn't  come  up  I  should 
never  have  got  packed  in  the  world." 

Doctor  Bryson  leaned  hungrily  against  the  door 
casing,  as  June  knelt  authoritatively  in  front  of  the 
trunk.  The  mere  sight  of  her  belongings  made  his 
head  reel.  "  Humph !  Do  you  call  this  packed  ?  " 
said  he  in  words  a  thousandfold  quieter  than  his 
thoughts.  "  If  you  depend  on  her  to  pack  it,  you  won't 
get  off  till  September.  Let  me  come  in.  I  can  pack 
your  trunk  in  thirty  minutes  by  the  watch. 

"Oh-p!  Well,  if  you  ain't  cheeky!"  declared 
June,  on  her  knees.  "  I  like  that.  Just  get  out  of 
here,  Sister  Bryson.  When  we  need  you  we'll  holler." 
He  stuck  his  fingers  lazily  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
June  eyeing  him  from  the  floor. 

"  There's  always  something  good  comes  out  of  that 
pocket,"  exclaimed  June,  with  a  twinkle.  "  He  never 
puts  his  fingers  into  that  pocket  that  way  without  some- 
thing good  coming  out."  Mrs.  Eliot,  with  a  parasol 
in  one  hand  and  a  camera  in  the  other,  stood  rosily 
awaiting  developments.  Bryson  smiled,  and  held  a 
little  envelope  toward  her. 

"  What  is  it,  doctor  ?  "  she  asked  quizzically. 

"  Your  transportation." 

224 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Oh,  Doctor  Bryson,  did  you  really  get  passes  for 
me?" 

"  I  did." 

"  Thank  you  ever  so  much.  But  it  is  a  shame  to 
have  put  you  to  that  trouble." 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  any  trouble." 

"Not  a  bit?" 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world."  June  jumped  up 
from  her  packing  and  looked  eagerly  over  Mrs.  Eliot's 
shoulder  at  the  coveted  prize.  "My  cracky !  I've 
lived  twenty  years  longer  than  you  have,"  she  ex- 
claimed to  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  and  nobody  ever  got  me  a 
pass  yet."  . 

"  There  are  your  meal  coupons,"  explained  the  doc- 
tor, handing  Mrs.  Eliot  additional  credentials.  "  Com- 
plimentary, see?  You  hand  this  little  book  to  the 
dining-room  cashier  with  your  table  check.  He  de- 
taches a  coupon." 

"  Free  meals  ?  "  cried  June,  incredulousy.  "  Can 
you  eat  all  you  want  ?  " 

"  All  you  want." 

"  It  would  be  just  my  luck  to  be  seasick,  anyway,  if 
I  had  'em,"  reflected  June.  "  Well,  I  don't  care.  If 
you're  seasick,  give  'em  to  somebody  else  to  use." 

"  In  other  words,  beat  the  company,"  put  in  Bry- 
son. "That's  June  all  over ;  they  ought  to  be  swindled, 
of  course,  for  granting  me  a  favor." 

"  I  don' t  care ;  they're  a  corporation,"  grumbled 
the  anti-monopolist. 

"  Oh,  how  did  you  get  all  these  ?  "  interposed  Mrs. 
Eliot,  in  a  low  tone.  "  How  should  they  give  them  to 
you?" 

225 


Doctor   Bryson 

"The  president  of  the  company  was  losing  his 
sight — he  is  pretty  old — was  going  to  sell  out  the  line. 
The  young  partners  were  nearly  crazy,  and  after  they 
had  chased  all  over  the  country  to  save  his  eyes  with- 
out getting  any  results,  Mitchell  brought  him  to  me. 
There  were  some  complications,  but  I  was  lucky." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,"  repeated  June,  "  you're  just 
the  sweetest  old  thing  in  the  world,  anyway,  for  think- 
ing of  it,"  she  cried,  advancing  on  the  unsuspecting 
surgeon.  "  I  don't  suppose  she'd  kiss  you  for  it, 
but  I  would,  and  I'm  goin'  to,"  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  Bryson's  neck  she  kissed  him  unsparingly. 
She  tried  then  to  break  away  quick,  but  that  was  dif- 
ferent. She  found  herself  suddenly  in  the  vise  of  the 
doctor's  own  arms  and  he  kissed  her  again  and  again 
before  she  could  squirm  and  twist  and  shriek  away 
from  him.  Mrs.  Eliot  sat  down  and  laughed  into 
tears. 

"  You're  perfectly  scandalous,"  stormed  June. 
"  Why,  look  at  him !  He  doesn't  look  as  if  he  could 
harm  a  fly,  does  he  ?  "  she  declared,  arranging  her  hair- 
pins indignantly. 

"  Don't  monkey  with  the  buzz-saw,"  murmured 
Bryson,  leaning  again  in  the  doorway.  He  caught 
Mrs.  Eliot's  glance  as  he  spoke ;  caught  a  bubble  of 
comprehension  in  her  eyes  as  she  laughed,  and  he 
laughed  with  her.  The  dinner  bell  rang  just  as  June 
got  down  on  her  knees  again  to  pack.  She  threw  up 
her  hands.  "  I  declare,  it  seems  something  interferes 
the  minute  I  get  started  at  this  trunk.  I  have  got 
down  here  a  dozen  times  to  begin,  and  haven't  got 
started  yet." 

226 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  And  you  never  will,"  predicted  the  doctor.  About 
ten  o'clock  that  night  when  he  looked  in,  hungry, 
June  had  started  in  earnest. 

"  Now  clear  out,  both  of  you,"  she  commanded. 
"  You  just  make  me  nervous.  Go  downstairs  and  in 
an  hour  I'll  be  through." 

Mrs.  Eliot  rose  from  the  couch,  laid  down  the  para- 
sol and  the  camera,  on  which  she  had  made  no 
material  advance  during  the  evening;  that  is,  they 
appeared  no  nearer  packed  than  ever,  and  she  was  now 
clinging  to  them  in  a  sort  of  feeble-minded  way.  She 
laid  them  on  the  table  and  started  downstairs  behind 
the  doctor,  who,  for  the  evening,  had  assumed  a  suit 
of  white  flannel.  She  opened  the  screen  door  tenta- 
tively as  he  turned  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  No,"  he  begged,  quietly,  "  this  way.  I  want  some 
music." 

"  But  Mr.  Allison  and  Mary  have  both  gone  to  their 
rooms.  It  would  disturb  them."  , 

"  Nonsense,"  he  responded,  turning  on  a  gas  jet, 
"  they  won't  care."  She  seated  herself  at  the  piano 
and  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys. 

"  Can  you  see  if  I  turn  this  jet  off  and  light  one 
in  the  back  parlor?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  Then  I'll  do  it.  I  want  to  sit  here  in  the  dark  to 
listen." 

"  What  shall  I  play  ?  "  she  asked,  when  he  had  come 
back  and  seated  himself.  Her  mood  seemed  to  lighten 
as  she  turned  to  the  piano,  and  in  a  few  moments  her 
hands  were  dipping  above  the  keys  as  swallows  when 

227 


Doctor  Bryson 

the  sun  sets  in  August  hover  and  strike  at  the  flow  of  a 

river. 

"That's  right;  jolly  them  up,"  he  exclaimed  with 
satisfaction.  She  laughed  and  struck  again  and  again, 
till  the  keys  did,  in  truth,  take  life  from  her  fingers. 

"  There  are  all  sorts  of  colors  dancing  around  here 
now,"  she  murmured,  lightly.  "  What  do  you  want? 
What  shall  I  play?  Quick." 

"  The  Flatterer." 

She  swayed  a  sudden  answer  to  the  plea,  leaned  for- 
ward, and  with  an  exquisite  caprice  melted  a  group 
of  heavy  chords  into  the  delicate  opening  of  the  French 
song.  He  bent  forward  in  his  chair,  and  putting  up 
his  hands,  stared  into  distance. 

For  a  week  it  was  all  he  could  remember ;  the  dark 
of  the  parlor,  the  heady  music,  the  fragrance  of  the 
woman,  the  ripple  of  her  fingers,  the  looseness  of  her 
hair.  That,  and  her  slender  figure  standing  in  the  sun- 
shine the  next  afternoon  on  the  steamer's  deck,  a 
broad  plumed  hat  of  straw  dipping  light  as  a  gull  over 
her  head,  as  she  waved  good  byes,  until  a  two-hun- 
dred-pound brute  of  a  fellow  elbowed  her  from  the 
rail,  and  she  was  gone. 

After  a  week  he  quieted  down  and  began  to  marvel 
at  how  well  he  was  standing  the  separation.  A  week 
went,  and  a  month,  quiet  as  night.  Bryson  drove 
with  Mary  Montague  and  with  John  to  the  summer 
concerts,  and  congratulated  himself  on  how  unex- 
pectedly well  he  was  behaving.  He  had  promised  not 
to  write,  and  she  purposely  wrote  to  no  one  at  the 
house.  An  occasional  word  from  Mrs.  Goddard  to 

228 


Doctor   Bryson 


Mary  was  the  only  word  they  had  from  the  Michigan 
cottagers. 

But  one  morning  Doctor  Bryson,  while  despatching 
his  grist  of  patients,  was  confronted  by  a  young  man 
that  gave  him  a  shock.  He  was  not  above  twenty 
years ;  a  handsome  fellow  in  a  lazy  tweed  travelling 
suit.  A  piece  of  adhesive  plaster  covered  a  wound 
above  his  right  eyebrow ;  the  eye  itself  was  inflamed. 

"  I'm  just  in  from  Denver,"  he  explained.  "  I 
came  over  the  Burlington.  I  was  sitting  in  the  smok- 
ing-room of  the  sleeper,  and  when  we  were  pulling 
into  town  this  morning  some  kid  threw  a  stone 
through  the  car  window  and  a  piece  of  glass  struck 
me  right  over  the  eye.  The  company  surgeon  at  the 
depot  fixed  up  my  forehead.  I  bled  like  a  pig  for  a 
while,"  laughed  the  young  man,  briskly,  "  and  then 
he  sent  me  over  here  in  a  cab  to  have  you  see  whether 
there  was  any  glass  in  my  eye." 

While  he  was  talking  Bryson  was  inspecting  him. 
Critically,  at  first,  as  he  looked  over  every  new  face 
that  came  to  him ;  then  with  surprise  and  wonder,  for 
some  indefinable  thing  about  the  boy's  face  stirred 
him. 

It  was  a  delicate  face,  feminine  almost,  the  nostrils 
sensitive  and  the  eyes  frankly  appealing.  The  cold- 
featured  Doctor  Bryson  listened  without  hearing,  and 
with  his  faculties  still  disordered,  made  his  visitor  re- 
peat all  he  had  said,  studying  the  while  his  nose  and 
mouth,  the  way  he  said  "  glass  "  and  "  with "  and 
"  forehead,"  and  the  way  he  sustained  an  inflection  at 
the  end  of  a  sentence,  and  a  certain  manner  he  had  of 
talking  straight  ahead  till  his  breath  was  quite  gone. 

229 


Doctor  Bryson 

Then  to  Doctor  Bryson's  incertitude  a  verdict  was 
made  fast.  Startling  and  improbable  as  it  seemed 
even  in  the  making,  it  read  in  his  mind,  "This  is  her 
brother." 

Every  move  of  the  affable  surgeon  after  that  was 
made  in  that  conviction.  Doubt  asserted  and  reassert- 
ed itself,  only  to  give  way  before  facial  expressions 
and  mannerisms  of  tongue  and  voice  so  impalpable 
as  to  be  unmistakable,  and  Doctor  Bryson  grew  inly 
excited  and  "  threw  himself,"  as  June  would  say,  to 
make,  like  a  huge  surprised  spider,  the  most  of  his 
chance  fly. 

He  took  the  young  man's  vision  carefully,  watching, 
while  the  latter  read,  the  length,  shape  and  fall  of  his 
fingers  as  his  hand  rested  on  his  knees,  knowing,  who- 
ever he  was,  as  he  mused  to  himself,  wherever  he 
came  from,  he  was  her  brother.  Turning  him  finally 
to  the  light  and  putting  a  powerful  lens  over  the  in- 
jured eye  to  examine  it,  he  could  feel  a  sensation  of 
faintness  almost  as  if  she  herself  were  close  under  his 
scrutiny  and  the  eyes  turned  confiding  to  his  were 
still  her  very  own. 

"Can  you  see  anything,  doctor?"  asked  the  un- 
known. 

"  Glass — the  glass  that  does  the  mischief — is  the 
hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  find  in  the  eye,"  replied 
Bryson,  after  a  long  search.  "  I'll  look  at  your  eye 
again  after  a  while  in  the  dark-room.  Take  a  seat  over 
there  by  the  window.  Look  down.  By  the  way,  what 
is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked,  putting  some  drops  into  the 
inflamed  eye. 

"  Dempster,  W.  D.  Dempster.  My  people  used  to 
230 


Doctor   Bryson 


live  in  Evanston,  but  I've  lived  in  Denver  the  last  three 
years  with  an  uncle." 

Dempster— Helen  Dempster  was  Mrs.  Eliot's 
maiden  name.  He  knew  that  from  June. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  continued  Bryson, 
straightening  up. 

"  Mining." 

"  You  have  some  relatives  here?  " 

"  I've  a  sister  that's  married." 

"Mrs.  Eliot?" 

"  Why,  do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  We  board  at  the  same  place  on  the  South  Side. 
Keep  your  eye  closed  a  while.  Take  a  seat  over  there 
by  the  window." 

After  a  second  examination  and  an  assurance  to 
Mr.  Will  Dempster  that  there  was  no  glass  in  his  eye, 
the  doctor  chatted  about  his  sister's  pretty  little  girl, 
Ruth.  Will  Dempster  was  in  no  wise  backward 
about  pursuing  the  pleasant  acquaintance,  and  in 
the  end  Bryson  insisted  on  taking  him  to  luncheon 
at  the  Athletic  Club.  There  he  sat  and  fed  on  the  boy 
and  listened  to  his  talk,  told  him  where  his  sister  was, 
and  entertained  him  royally.  The  young  man,  whose 
very  feet  and  hands  continually  suggested  the  dainti- 
ness of  his  sister,  promised  to  come  around  again  in 
the  morning. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Bryson  of  June  that  night. 
"  I  never  heard  her  speak  of  a  brother.  Do  you  know 
him?" 

"  What,  Will  Dempster?  Well,  I  guess  I  do.  He's 
a  skidamarink,  that  fellow." 

"What's  that?" 

231 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  A  ne'er-do-weel,"  said  June,  discussing  the  hand- 
some boy  candidly.  "  He's  a  cross  to  her.  She's 
tried  for  years  to  straighten  him  out.  He'll  never 
straighten  out  for  anybody." 

"  He  doesn't  look  over  eighteen." 

"  Eighteen  ?    He's  twenty-two,  if  he's  a  day." 

Next  day  Master  Will  Dempster  did  look  a  little 
older,  but  a  more  lovable  boy  Bryson  thought  he  had 
never  met  in  the  world,  and  when  it  came  to  telling 
stories  he  kept  Bryson  laughing  by  the  hour.  At 
luncheon  Will  asked  if  the  doctor  knew  his  sister's 
husband,  Eliot. 

"  I've  met  him." 

"  There's  a  chap  for  you.  He's  the  damnedest  fellow 
you  ever  saw,"  declared  Will,  breezily.  "  He's  great 
on  family  and  schemes  and  things." 

"Schemes?"  echoed  Bryson,  lazily,  enjoying  the 
rattle. 

"  Schemes  ?  "  re-ehoed  Will,  stimulated  by  the  cock- 
tail with  which,  when  someone  else  paid  for  it,  he  al- 
ways began  a  meal.  He  paused  to  laugh,  "  Why,  that 
fellow  wouldn't  stop  at  anything  when  he  gets  started. 
He  used  to  take  quinine,  and  every  time  he  had  a 
good  dose  on  he'd  start  a  new  scheme — the  world 
was  his.  He  hadn't  any  idea  of  business  on  earth, 
but  he  could  plan  more  schemes  than  a  Utah  Gen- 
tile." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  asked  Bryson,  leadingly. 

"That's  right.  Why,  that  fellow,"  declared  Will 
— as  handsome  a  vagabond  as  ever  graced  a  dining- 
room,  leading,  rosy-cheeked,  to  a  climax — "that  fellow 

232 


Doctor  Bryson 


wouldn't  hesitate  to  start  a  fire  insurance  company  in 
hell." 

There  was  no  end  to  this  sort  of  jokes.  For  a  week 
he  came  in  daily  to  see  Doctor  Bryson.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  he  explained  that  his  uncle's  remittances 
had  failed  to  arrive.  Doctor  Bryson  promptly  handed 
him  a  hundred  dollars. 

"  That  settles  it,"  declared  June  that  night.  "  You'll 
never  see  that  fellow  again." 

She  was  right.  Bryson  never  did  see  him  again. 
Willie  disappeared  permanently. 

"  Not  much  like  his  sister,"  mused  Bryson  over  his 
dessert.  "  I'd  like  to  see  anybody  succeed  in  making 
her  accept  a  temporary  advance." 

"  You'll  look  a  long  way  before  you  can  find  a 
woman  in  the  world  like  her,  I  can  tell  you,  doctor. 
Why  don't  you  marry  her  ?  "  Bryson  started.  "  I 
mean  it.  I  can  see  things,  I  guess,  when  they're  stuck 
under  my  nose,  can't  I  ?  " 

"June,  I'd  give  my  right  hand  if  she'd  marry  me. 
She's  queer  about  divorce — and  things.  She  won't 
marry  as  long  as  that  man  Eliot  lives." 

"  Oh,  pshaw,"  sniffed  June,"  there's  no  use  being  a 
crank.  Just  as  good  people  as  she  get  divorces. 
You're  too  easy,  doctor.  Tell  her  you  are  going  to 
marry  her,  divorce  or  no  divorce,  and  you  see.  Some 
women  imagine  nothing  in  the  world  will  start  'em. 
You  just  let  a  mouse  loose  on  'em,  and  see  what  they'll 
do." 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Bryson,  jumping  half 
out  of  his  chair  as  he  pointed  to  the  floor  with  a  terror- 

233 


Doctor  Bryson 


stricken  face.  "  See  there !  Isn't  that  a  great  big 
mouse  there,  right  now  ?  " 

"  Godfrey  Martin !  "  cried  June,  dodging  behind  his 
chair  with  an  inconceivably  quick  spring.  "  Kill  it," 
she  gasped.  "  Where  is  it,  doctor?" 

"  Sit  down.    There  isn't  any  mouse." 

"  You  miserable,  mean  thing,  what  are  you  trying 
to  scare  me  for  ?  I  hope  you  don't  want  to  marry  me, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  know  how  to  classify  you,"  said  Bry- 
son, languidly.  Then  he  shook  his  head.  "  She 
wouldn't  jump  like  that." 

"  Well,  I  bet  she  would,  just  the  same,"  declared 
the  flushed  and  offended  June,  reseating  herself. 
"  I've  heard  all  I  want  to  about  this  remarkable  woman 
business.  When  you  come  to  test  them  they  are  every- 
one just  exactly  like  any  old  woman."  He  pushed 
away  his  plate  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Not  just  exactly,  June.  She's  not.  I  was  with  her 
once  in  a  parade  down  town.  The  time  you  were  in 
Cleveland.  We  started  to  get  from  State  to  Wabash, 
and  a  cross-current  in  the  crowd  pocketed  us  on  Jack- 
son Boulevard.  You  know  what  one  of  those  down- 
town crowds  is.  On  top  of  that,  just  as  they  shoved 
us  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  a  runaway  team, 
dragging  a  brougham  along  like  a  sulky,  swung  into 
the  Boulevard  from  Wabash  and  jumped  right  into  the 
crowd.  They  were  tremendous  big  horses,  and  they 
cut  into  that  jam  like  a  lawn  mower.  There  must 
have  been  a  thousand  people  that  couldn't  have  moved 
six  inches  to  save  their  lives,  and  the  horses  reared 
and  struck  right  and  left  and  cut  people  down — it 

234 


Doctor   Bryson 


looked  like  a  slaughter  house  in  two  minutes.  They 
ran  the  carriage  pole  right  through  a  woman's  back, 
June,  and  shoved  her  along  hung  up  like  a  figure- 
head. Before  we  could  think  they  were  right  on  us. 
Mrs.  Eliot  was  in  front  of  me.  Women  were  scream- 
ing, men  yelling,  and  that  woman  on  the  carriage 
pole."  He  closed  his  eyes.  "  The  off  horse  was  so 
close  he  threw  foam  into  my  face.  What  do  you  think 
Mrs.  Eliot  did?  I  was  scared  sick.  I  couldn't,  for 
Heaven, -have  got  her  behind  me.  I  leaned  over  her 
and  waved  my  arms  at  the  crazy  horse.  I  might  as 
well  have  shaken  a  straw  at  him.  But  she  tore  her  hat 
from  her  head  and  batted  him  across  the  eyes  as  fierce 
as  anything  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  until  he  backed ; 
and  she  followed  him  right  up,  June,  till  a  man  passed 
me  a  pistol.  I  cocked  it  right  at  her  ear,  and  the 
brute's  nose  was  so  close  that  I  fired  within  six  inches 
of  her  head.  Faint  ?  Not  much !  Scream  ?  Never 
a  sound.  'She  was  pressed  so  against  me  I  could  hear 
her  breathing  pretty  hard ;  that  was  all.  She  asked  me 
never  to  say  anything  about  it,"  he  mused,  shifting  in 
his  chair.  "  That  boy  looks  as  much  like  her  as  a  pho- 
tograph, June.  I'm  sorry  he's  dropped  me.  He 
didn't  know  what  a  mark  he  had,  did  he?  I'd  have 
given  him  a  hundred  a  week  if  he'd  asked  for  it." 

That  night  he  could  not  sleep.  She  had  come  fear- 
fully into  his  mind,  and  he  could  not  sleep.  Hour  and 
hour  he  tossed  and  turned ;  it  was  useless.  He  got 
up,  dressed  himself,  pulled  a  chair  to  the  window  and 
sat  in  the  lake  breeze.  The  room  grew  unendurable, 
and  without  waking  John,  whose  door  was  open,  he 
slipped  out  of  the  house,  made  for  the  Boulevard  in 

235 


Doctor  Bryson 


the  gaslight,  walked  far  beyond,  and  crossing  the  dan- 
gerous railroad  tracks,  went  straight  to  the  lake  shore, 
where  it  was  dark.  He  stumbled  out,  sat  down  on  a 
rotten  pier  and  listened  to  the  wash  of  the  surf  on 
the  shingle.  He  liked  it  because  the  water  at  his  feet 
reached  to  hers  and  made  her  seem  nearer,  and  he  sat 
a  long  time,  hoping  day  would  break.  But  day  did 
not  break,  and  when  he  slipped  his  passkey  into  the 
door  again  it  was  only  three  o'clock.  When  one  tries 
to  wear  it  completely  out,  a  night  is  so  long. 

Walking  upstairs,  he  could  not  get  by  her  door, 
and  he  halted  before  it,  leaning  irresolutely  against 
the  banisters.  He  was  mad  for  a  sight  of  her  face, 
and  with  the  thought  that  there  might  be  what  she 
had  always  refused  him,  a  photograph,  somewhere  in 
her  room,  he  opened  her  door,  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  stood  a  moment  in  the  dark,  felt  for  a 
match,  struck  it  and  lit  the  curious  red  candle  on  her 
dresser.  Her  rooms  were  empty,  but  the  spell  of  her 
presence  was  upon  him.  The  indefinable  fragrance  of 
the  apartments  was  like  incense,  and  he  groped  about, 
candle  in  hand,  looking  for  a  photograph.  There 
were  pictures  of  girls  all  about,  pupils,  friends,  and  in 
a  leathern  case  a  beautiful  photograph  of  Ruth.  He 
got  to  the  bedroom  door  with  his  heart  beating  wild ; 
looked  silently  at  her  bed  and  its  whiteness ;  tiptoed  to 
it,  and  bent  over  it ;  breathed  of  her  pillow  as  one  does 
of  lilies,  then  bending  lower,  kissed  it. 


236 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE  Goddard  Cottage  on  Grand  Bay  lies  toward 
the  East  Arm,  where  it  is  quiet,  and  the  sum- 
mer days  are  much  alike.  Mrs.  Goddard  and  such 
guests  as  summer  with  her  cultivate  the  art  of  lazi- 
ness and  indulge  in  nothing  more  active  than  driving. 
But  the  drives  in  Michigan  are  attractive,  for  the 
poorest  country  road  gives  contrast  to  the  accursed 
sameness  of  the  city  park  and  boulevard — that  Chicago 
monotony  of  house  and  curb  and  lawn  and  elm  that 
invites  an  ultimate  mental  collapse. 

After  Mrs.  Eliot,  arriving  at  the  Goddard  Cottage, 
had  smothered  Ruth  in  a  press  of  kisses  choked  with 
grateful  smiles,  and  shone  rainbow-like,  through  a 
shower  of  summer  tears,  Mrs.  Goddard,  relentless  as 
a  permanent  cottager,  took  her  in  hand  to  show  her 
the  places  and  the  things,  for  Grand  Bay  is  rich  in 
both.  The  fever  on  water,  land,  among  the  neighbors 
and  on  the  porch  lasted  a  fortnight.  Then  Mrs.  God- 
dard resumed  her  hammock  and  her  novel,  gave  the 
usual  programme  to  the  colored  maid  in  the  kitchen, 
and  left  Mrs.  Eliot  to  her  own  devices,  which  were  to 
taste  with  Ruth  the  woods,  the  birds,  the  mosses,  the 
vines;  the  flowers,  the  mushrooms,  the  berries;  the 
rocks,  the  sands  and  the  surf. 

With  Mrs.  Eliot  the  gay  of  the  day  went  in  the 
shade  of  the  trees  or  along  the  stretches  of  cool  green 
above  the  headland :  the  decline  went  to  the  children's 

237 


bathing,  the  cliffs,  the  footpaths,  or  to  the  rowboat 
under  the  stars  and  song  over  the  waters;  and  the 
night — Ruth  tucked  away — to  the  roaring  beech  logs 
in  the  big  room;  knees  crossed  in  aching  rest,  arms 
akimboed,  hair  tossed,  head  drooped  in  musing;  at 
confidences  with  Mrs.  Goddard. 

In  six  weeks  this  delicate,  fair-skinned  woman,  with 
her  pinkish  ears  and  her  gloved  fingers  and  her  dainty 
footgear,  was  hued  to  a  hazel,  her  hair  burnt  o'  the 
sun;  brown  handed,  strong  booted,  reckless  of  sand 
and  thorn  and  stone ;  a  summer,  low-voiced,  burning- 
eyed  amazon.  And  one  morning  off  the  point  where 
before  lay  every  morning  only  blue  water  and  gold 
lay  a  yacht  at  anchor. 

Why  she  always  saw  such  things  first,  Mrs.  Eliot 
could  not  tell.  She  and  Ruth  slept  upstairs  and  the 
sun  was  hardly  an  hour  high  when  she  drew  up  her 
shades:  and  there  lay  the  boat.  The  water  was  blue 
and  gold,  for  the  Grand  Bay  is  as  deep  as  the  Bay  of 
Naples,  and  the  sky  in  August  is  Italian.  The  yacht 
was  white  and  gold,  slender  as  hope  and  as  buoyant 
and  strong.  It  lay  a  pretty  boat,  but  she  knew  not  all 
it  meant  as  she  gave  a  cry  of  delight  and  called  through 
the  summer  floor  down  to  Mrs.  Goddard  to  announce 
the  distinguished  harbor  visitor.  In  northern  waters 
a  yacht  is  the  thing  exclusive.  Ruth,  tumbling  from 
bed,  without  a  second  call,  at  the  news  of  a  yacht, 
hugged  the  window  while  her  mother  dressed,  and 
could  not  be  coaxed  to  her  waist  and  skirts.  Her 
mother  had  just  knotted  her  own  hair  when  she  heard 
footsteps  up  the  hemlock  sidewalk,  a  rapping  at  the 

238 


Doctor   Bryson 


door  below  and  a  startled  darky  mammy  answering 
the  voice  of  a  man. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Goddard's  cottage,  isn't  it  ?  She's 
at  home,  I  presume.  Not  up  yet  ?  Is  Mrs.  Eliot  here  ? 
She  is?  Doctor  Bryson's  compliments  to  everybody, 
please." 

In  the  summer  cottage  everyone  hears  at  once ; 
everyone  screams  at  once;  everyone  talks  at  once, 
visitor  and  visited.  From  behind  partitions  came 
voices  and  welcomes  and  from  before  them  came 
laughter  and  banter  and  replies,  and  Ruth,  bounding 
from  all  restraint,  scuttled  downstairs  in  her  night- 
gown to  reach  Doctor  Bryson  first  and  hug  his  neck 
and  cuddle  her  feet  in  his  waistcoat  and  tell  him  quick 
about  the  Indian  man  that  had  the  toothache  all  day 
and  lay  under  the  point  in  the  shade  while  his  wife  sold 
baskets.  And  she  asked  Doctor  Bryson,  while  Mrs. 
Goddard  hurled  questions  like  old  shoes  over  her  par- 
tition, and  from  Mrs.  Eliot's  throat  above  ran  all  sorts 
of  little  trilling  tunes,  she,  Ruth,  not  believing  it  her- 
self, asked  Doctor  Bryson  whether  he  believed  the 
poor  Indian's  toothache  could  possibly  have  come  from 
Milwaukee  in  a  bottle,  as  old  Colonel  Cross  said  it  had ; 
and  Doctor  Bryson  refused  to  believe  it.  Doctor  Bry- 
son thought,  just  as  Mrs.  Eliot  appeared  at  the  turn 
of  the  stairs,  that  a  man  with  the  toothache  should 
have  the  benefit  of  a  doubt. 

He  met  her,  half  bending  as  he  advanced,  his  eyes 
raised  under  his  brows  and  both  hands  extended.  On 
her  part  there  was  a  frank  quickening  of  feet  as  she 
put  out  her  hands  and  an  exclamation  as  he  caught 

239 


them.    "  You  are  looking  so  well,  so  well,"  he  declared, 
marvelling. 

"And  you,  too,  doctor." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  admiring  amazement.  "  Truly, 
I  never  saw  you  looking  so  well  in  your  life,"  he  cried, 
clinging  unyieldingly  to  her  fingers.  She,  after  a  quick, 
cordial  pressure,  was  trying  to  escape  his  hands. 

"  Your  yachting  suit  is  stunning,"  she  stammered, 
with  a  trace  of  confusion.  "  I  saw  it  first ;  I  mean  the 
yacht.  But  I  never  dreamed  you  were  here.  Ruth, 
run  right  upstairs  and  dress  yourself." 

"  I  can't  get  over  it,"  he  exclaimed.  "  This  is 
magic.  You  look  like  a  gypsy  queen.  Where  did  I 
come  from  ?  Chicago,  of  course.  That's  Ed  Mitchell's 
steam  yacht  out  yonder,  '  The  Sweetheart,'  up  for  the 
regatta  in  the  West  Arm  next  week.  If  we  haven't 
had  a  ride !  Mrs.  Goddard,  I  congratulate  you.  You 
never  dressed  half  so  quickly  in  your  life." 

"  Never  had  the  incentive  before,  doctor,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Goddard,  smiling  from  flaming  stuffs  of  morning 
hue. 

"  You  look  ten  years  younger  than  when  I  left  you 
in  Randolph  Street ;  do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember ;  you  look  ten  years  wick- 
eder than  when  I  left  you,  doctor." 

"  Oh,  mean !  Well,  you  shouldn't  have  left  me. 
Nobody  should  leave  me." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing  on  earth.  I'm  sleeping,  eating,  drinking 
on  the  water.  But  say,"  he  added,  speaking  to  both 
as  all  sat  down,  "on  that  yacht  I  have  the  surprise  of 
your  lives." 

240 


Doctor   Bryson 


"What  is  it?"  they  cried  together. 

"  Never  mind.  It's  the  surprise  of  your  lives. 
You'll  never  get  it  from  me.  Wait  till  you  go 
aboard.  By  the  way,  how  often  do  you  breakfast 
here?  I'm  starved.  Where's  Goddard?  West  again? 
I'd  make  him  sell  out  his  mines,  or  I'd  leave  him." 

"  I've  left  him  two  or  three  times,  but  he  won't  stay 
left.  I'll  hurry  up  your  breakfast.  Tillie,"  she  called, 
raising  her  voice  to  the  kitchen,  "Doctor  Bryson  is 
very  hungry." 

"  Oh,  yes'm." 

"  Hurry  up,  Tillie." 

"  Yes'm." 

"  That's  the  great  advantage  of  a  summer  house," 
sighed  Mrs.  Goddard.  "  The  walls  are  so  accommo- 
dating. You  can  give  orders  to  all  parts  of  the  house 
without  leaving  your  chair.  I'm  getting  fat  on  it. 
With  a  megaphone,  if  it's  raining  or  anything,  I  can 
sit  here  and  converse  with  any  of  the  neighbors.  Now 
tell  us  about  it,  like  a  good  man,  doctor.  He  looks  so 
well  in  his  yachting  clothes,  doesn't  he,  Mrs.  Eliot? 
He  certainly  understands  colors." 

"  Well,  it's  very  easy.  I  was  coming  up  to  sur- 
prise you,  but  my  ambition  didn't  extend  to  a  private 
yacht.  I  sent  Jim  over  Monday  for  tickets  and  Ed 
Mitchell  heard  of  it.  He  came  down  to  the  College 
and  said  that  he  was  going  up  Wednesday  with  his 
wife,  and  that  I  didn't  have  money  enough  to  buy  boat 
tickets  when  he  had  steam  on  '  The  Sweetheart.'  And 
I  packed,  and,  by  Peter,  here  I  am.  Merry  Christ- 
mas! Mitchell  went  north  on  the  up  boat  last  night. 
Ruth,  you'd  better  go  dress,  or  you'll  get  killed.  Bring 

241 


Doctor  Bryson 

your  clothes  down  here  and  I'll  help  you,  eh?  Oh, 
you  won't.  Getting  too  big  a  young  lady ;  I  thought 
so.  There's  nobody  very  glad  to  see  me,  that's  plain." 

"  Nobody  glad  to  see  you  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"You  horrid  thing!  What  do  you  mean?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  Can't  you  see  I'm  in  a  state  of  collapse  for  some- 
thing to  eat?" 

"  Tillie ! " 

"  Yes'm." 

"  Hurry  breakfast,  please." 

"  Oh,  yes'm." 

Mrs.  Eliot  sprang  up.  "  Nobody  glad  to  see  him ; 
isn't  he  polite,  Mrs.  Goddard?  I'll  get  his  breakfast 
myself !  "  And  she  did  mostly  get  it,  and  it  was  very 
good  and  he  was  immensely  grateful.  He  ate  raven- 
ously and  talked  like  a  boy. 

After  breakfast  he  gave  them  just  time  to  dress  over 
again  for  a  call  on  Mrs.  Mitchell  aboard.  The  doctor 
had  condensed  all  marine  phraseology  to  "  aboard  " 
and  "  ashore." 

Doctor  Bryson  and  Ruth  headed  the  procession  for 
the  boat,  and  the  ladies,  to  the  envy  of  the  entire  col- 
ony of  cottagers,  followed  over  to  the  pier,  where  a  pre- 
cise looking  salt,  who  Doctor  Bryson  explained  was 
a  "  bo'sun,"  saluted,  and  marshalling  his  crew  of  two 
lesser  salts,  handed  his  guests  into  his  boat  and  pulled 
them  swiftly  out  to  the  yacht. 

"  Everything  is  so  novel,  isn't  it  ?  "  whispered  Mrs. 
Goddard,  with  the  homage  that  critical  intelligence 
pays  to  luxury  as  the  little  party  approached  the 
white  racer.  Even  when  they  reached  the  deck,  and 

242 


Doctor   Bryson 


Mrs.  Mitchell,  whom  they  hadn't  seen  for  a  long  time, 
ran  forward  to  welcome  them,  Mrs.  Goddard  still  spoke 
in  the  subdued  tone  that  she  descended  to  only  in  the 
presence  of  the  mighty.  It  was  a  moment  for  admir- 
ation and  enjoyment.  The  white  of  the  upper  outer 
equipment  shaded  into  gold  and  within,  the  gold 
shaded  into  blue  and  mahogany,  and  in  the  cabin,  a 
dream  of  cosiness  and  appointment,  Doctor  Bryson's 
surprise  rose  gloomily  to  meet  them;  it  was  June. 
They  greeted  her  with  screams. 

"  How  are  you,  you  sweet  old  thing  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Eliot. 

"  I  ain't  very  well,"  replied  June,  with  a  face  as 
long  as  her  waist.  "  This  miserable  old  boat — ex- 
cusing me,  Mrs.  Mitchell — teeters  too  much  to  suit 
me.  I  was  doubled  up  all  day  yesterday,"  she  said, 
gauntly,  "  and  I  ain't  got  one  laugh  left  in  the  locker, 
if  that's  nauchical  language." 

The  morning  on  "  The  Sweetheart "  went  like  an 
hour.  There  was  an  orchestrelle  in  the  cabin  and  a 
piano,  and  Mrs.  Eliot  played.  Captain  Larry,  a 
wrinkled  Scotchman,  took  Mrs.  Eliot  personally  in 
hand  and  showed  her  the  fine  points  of  the  boat  with  a 
spirit  that  made  every  rope's  end  interesting.  At  eleven 
o'clock  sightseeing  was  done  and  a  pleasurable  fatigue 
felt ;  a  breakfast  was  served  in  the  after-cabin  with  the 
silence,  the  excellence  and  the  savor  of  things  well 
thought  out.  Doctor  Bryson  presided,  Mrs.  Mitchell  on 
the  right.  Next  to  her  Mrs.  Eliot,  who  heard  in  asides 
how  Doctor  Bryson  had  saved  her  father's  sight  and 
how  much  her  husband  thought  of  him  and  how  much 
she  thought  of  him.  Then,  while  the  doctor  joked  at 

243 


Doctor   Bryson 


June,  Mrs.  Mitchell,  as  woman  must,  asked  Mrs.  Eliot 
in  a  whisper  if  she  didn't  think  him  just  splendid. 

"  But  how  did  you  ever  get  June  up  here  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Eliot  of  the  doctor  when  he  got  a  minute  with  her 
on  deck. 

"  I'll  tell  you.  John  and  Mary  Montague  have  gone 
to  Oconomowoc  for  a  month ;  the  house  is  empty,  any- 
way, and  June  was  '  busted '  again,  so  I  told  her  to 
come  up  here  with  me.  I  was  afraid  she'd  snow  me 
under  with  a  new  batch  of  bills,  and  I  thought  it  cheap- 
er to  let  her  travel ;  that's  about  it.  But  she's  a  poor 
sailor.  We'll  have  to  leave  her  ashore  somewhere  up 
here.  She  swears  she'll  swim  ashore  if  we  don't  land 
her.  Now  let  me  unfold  the  plan,"  he  added,  as  Mrs. 
Goddard  and  Mrs.  Mitchell  came  up.  "  I'm  up  here 
to  see  the  country  and  I've  got  barely  two  weeks  to  do 
it  in,  so  it  is  necessary  to  keep  moving.  Mr.  Mitchell 
took  the  Mackinac  boat  last  night.  He  couldn't  stay 
over  with  us ;  we  are  going  up  to-night.  You  want 
us  to  dine  ashore  ?  "  He  appealed  to  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  And  don't  forget,  doctor,"  put  in  Mrs.  Mitchell, 
"Mr.  Mitchell  invites  Mrs.  Goddard  and  Mrs.  Eliot 
for  the  little  cruise  you  are  to  take  before  the  regatta, 
while  he  is  fishing." 

"  He  and  Mrs.  Mitchell  are  going  up  on  the  Steel 
River  for  a  few  days  after  trout,"  explained  the  doc- 
tor, "  and  he  puts  '  The  Sweetheart '  at  our  disposal 
while  they  are  gone.  It's  magnificent ;  royal ;  but  what 
can  you  do?  That's  Ed  Mitchell.  He  can't  help  it. 
When  you  see  him  to-morrow  prepare  to  lose  both  your 
hearts,  subject,  of  course,  to  Mrs.  Mitchell's  censor- 

244 


Doctor   Bryson 


ship.  He  grows  handsomer  yearly.  Now,  will  you 
go?" 

"  Why,  how  perfectly  delightful,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Goddard,  looking  at  Mrs.  Eliot.  "  If  we  can  arrange. 
I  think  we  can.  We  certainly  must !  "  repeated  Mrs. 
Goddard.  "  Mrs.  Mitchell,  it  has  been  the  dream  of 
my  life  to  cruise.  If  I  could  cruise  just  once  I  think 
I  could  die." 

June,  very  glad  of  Mrs.  Goddard's  invitation  to  dry 
land,  went  ashore  with  them.  Mrs.  Goddard,  wild 
over  the  prospect  of  visiting  her  Mackinac  friends  in 
a  yacht,  thought  the  matter  so  little  worth  discussing 
that  she  was  astonished  when  Mrs.  Eliot  demurred  at 
the  proposed  trip. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Goddard,  despairingly,  sitting 
down  in  the  midst  of  the  finery  she  had  already  strewn 
over  the  bed,  "  if  you  are  not  going,  of  course  I  can't." 

"  Oh,  now,  Mrs.  Goddard,"  protested  Mrs.  Eliot, 
"  surely  you  can  go  and  leave  the  rest  of  us  here  for  a 
week." 

"  Go  away  while  you  are  my  guest — leave  you  here 
alone?  I  think  not.  You  must  go  if  I  do,  my  dear. 
There's  nothing  on  earth  to  keep  you,  is  there?  You 
can  see  the  doctor  has  set  his  heart  on  it.  June  will 
stay  here  with  Ruth.  What  is  there  to  prevent  your 
going?" 

The  situation  reduced  itself  for  Mrs.  Eliot  to  sub- 
mission or  open  rebellion.  June,  after  one  hour  on 
solid  earth,  had  recovered  her  spirits  and  urged  her 
to  go.  Ruth  urged.  Mrs.  Goddard  no  longer  urged ; 
she  looked  crushed. 

"  I  will  go,  my  dear,"  said  the  bewildered  lady  at 

245 


Doctor  Bryson 


last  to  Ruth,  who  clung  to  her  neck,  "  and  may  God 
keep  you  and  me  safe  until  my  arms  fold  you  again." 

The  cottage  dinner  in  the  evening  was  gay  and 
afterward  a  sort  of  reception  was  given  on  board 
"  The  Sweetheart,"  favored  colonists  of  the  resort  be- 
ing accorded  the  freedom  of  the  yacht.  At  the  last 
moment  sailing  was  deferred  until  morning,  and  the 
slight  change  in  the  programme  seemed  to  relieve  Mrs. 
Eliot  of  the  strain  that  had  come  over  her.  She  took 
of  the  gayety  of  the  company  and  was  merry  with  the 
merry.  The  cabins  cleared  and  thrown  together  gave 
a  tiny  sweep  for  dancing.  There  was  singing  and  two- 
stepping,  and,  to  her  mother's  playing,  Doctor  Bryson 
danced  with  Ruth,  swinging  her  at  arms'  length 
rhythmically  as  a  mower  swings  his  cradle.  There  was 
a  moon  over  the  bay,  and  late  in  the  evening  "  The 
Sweetheart "  steamed  around  the  lighthouse  and  into 
the  West  Arm,  where  a  monster  beach  fire  shot  a 
glare  far  up  and  down  the  shore  line  and  distant  song 
floated  across  the  water.  When  the  big  yacht  anchored 
again  it  was  midnight  and  the  resorters,  intoxicated 
with  pleasure,  were  rowed  ashore. 

Next  morning  in  the  sunshine  it  was  not  half  so 
hard  to  say  good  bye.  Everything  seemed  so  much 
more  feasible  and  so  much  easier,  and  the  adieus  waved 
to  Ruth  and  June  and  the  crowd  on  the  dock  and 
boomed  by  the  pretty  brass  cannon  from  the  deck 
were  infinitely  less  painful  to  one  uneasy  heart  than 
they  had  seemed  twelve  hours  earlier. 

Mrs.  Mitchell  and  Mrs.  Eliot  were  with  the  Cap- 
tain, and  Mrs.  Goddard  and  the  doctor,  aft  in  steamer 

246 


Doctor   Bryson 


chairs,  were  talking  Chicago  under  cunningly  devised 
awnings  that  shaded  all  and  hid  nothing. 

"Do  you  know,"  remarked  Bryson,  drawing  his 
chair  to  a  vis-a-vis  with  Mrs.  Eliot  when  Mrs.  Mit- 
chell took  Mrs.  Goddard  in  hand,  "this  is  my  first 
vacation  ?  " 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  Since  I  was  born." 

"  You  don't  mean  you've  never  had  a  vacation  in 
all  your  life?" 

"  Never  in  all  my  life." 

"Why,  doctor!" 

"  I  have  worked  ever  since  I  was  old  enough  to 
know  what  work  was.  This  week,  out  of  all  the  weeks 
that  have  gone  before,  is  mine  own,  by  Heaven.  And 
isn't  this  Heaven  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  as  the  firred  shores 
of  the  Grand  Bay  insensibly  receded  and  the  throbbing 
yacht  dipped  her  nose  into  the  darker,  heavier  waters 
of  the  lake.  "  Such  sun,  such  scenery,  such  air.  Oh, 
this  is  air !  Here  I've  talked  about  it  for  years  and  told 
my  patients  they  must  have  it — I  suppose  I've  sent 
five  hundred  people  to  Lake  Superior  and  never 
breathed  its  air  myself."  He  took  a  great  breath. 
"  Day  before  yesterday,"  he  went  on,  "  I  sat  in  the 
office  till  noon.  The  clinic  was  pretty  heavy  and  the 
strange  thing  is,  those  eye  cases  come  in  groups. 
One  day  it  is  all  one  thing,  myopia  or  astigmatism, 
or  foreign  bodies,  and  the  next,  perhaps,  all  old  peo- 
ple with  cataracts  or  mere  presbyopia.  Day  before 
yesterday  there  were  seven  cases,  and  bad  ones,  every 
one,  of  choroiditis.  That's  more  choroiditis  than  the 
ordinary  oculist  runs  against  in  a  month.  Do  you  see 

247 


Doctor  Bryson 


that  lighthouse  over  there?  Isn't  it  pretty,  dear?  "  he 
asked,  his  tone  falling.  "We  went  ashore  there  yester- 
day. The  engineer  shut  down  for  something  and  Mrs. 
Mitchell  and  I  went  ashore.  She  knows  the  people. 
The  keeper  has  been  there  for  thirty-one  years ;  think 
of  it." 

"Alone?" 

"  No,  bless  you,  his  wife.  And  he  has  been  blind 
seventeen  years  of  that  time." 

"  Why,  how  can  he  manage  tire  light?  " 

"  He  doesn't ;  his  wife  has  attended  to  it  ever  since 
he  went  blind." 

"  Poor  man.  Oh,  it  must  be  dreadful  to  be  blind. 
What  is  the  matter  with  his  eyes?  " 

He  was  about  to  answer  when  he  checked  himself. 
He  never  spoke  before  her  of  glaucoma.  He  knew  her 
fears  for  Ruth,  and  kept  the  spectre  from  her 
mother's  mind.  Nor  did  he  tell  how,  when  Mrs. 
Mitchell  had  introduced  him  to  the  slender,  gray- 
haired  woman  at  the  lighthouse  and  told  her  he 
was  a  famous  eye  surgeon,  tears  had  followed  the  lit- 
tle woman's  smile  and  she  had  asked  him  please  to  look 
at  her  husband's  eyes.  Nor  did  he  say  how  he  had 
asked  the  very  old  man  to  look  down,  and  had  felt 
with  each  forefinger  of  his  eyeballs,  first  one  and  then 
the  other — stony  hard  balls,  each  of  them — and  told 
him  not  to  worry ;  that  he  would  always  have  to  use 
his  wife's  eyes,  but  to  be  glad  he  had  such  a  wife. 

"  Atrophy  of  the  optic  nerves,"  replied  Doctor  Bry- 
son to  Mrs.  Eliot,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  vanishing 
lighthouse.  "  But  his  wife  is  the  brightest,  happiest 
woman  you  ever  saw.  She  showed  us  everything 

248 


Doctor   Bryson 


about  the  tower  from  top  to  bottom  and  explained 
things  like  a  government  inspector;  she's  wonderful. 
She  fastens  her  skirts  about  her  knees  with  a  cord, 
in  the  way  you've  seen  vaudeville  people  do  for  gym- 
nastic turns,  and  she  runs  up  and  down  the  tower  lad- 
der like  a  trapeze  performer.  What,  Mrs.  Mitchell  ? 
Time  to  eat  again?  Well,  it  do  beat  all.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  I'm  hungry  every  time." 


249 


CHAPTER    XX 

MACKINAC  is  the  clearing  house  of  northern 
summer  travel.  Here  everybody  tarries, 
touches,  or  at  least  passes,  and  at  the  height  of  the 
season  Mackinac  is  a  busy  place.  When  "  The  Sweet- 
heart "  anchored  off  the  island  it  was  night.  The  straits 
gleamed  with  steamer  lights  or  rung  with  the  hoarse 
bay  of  whistles  or  echoed  to  the  faint  chime  of  engine 
bells  as  silent  monsters  moved  up  and  down  the  artery 
of  the  Great  Lakes.  The  village  twinkled  its  brightest ; 
higher,  the  hotels,  like  huge  electric  signs,  blazed  a 
multitude  of  lamps ;  skyward,  cottage  windows,  strung 
along  the  cliffs,  shone  dim  like  a  Milky  Way  of  stars. 

In  the  morning  the  yawl  was  sent  in  for  Mitchell, 
and,  bringing  mail  and  papers  and  magazines,  he  was 
kissed  with  unconscious  ardor  by  his  wife  and  smiled 
at  by  Mrs.  Eliot,  whom  he  handed  in  to  breakfast 
with  good-humored  ceremony.  With  his  arrival  life 
on  "  The  Sweetheart "  took  on  the  quick  and  stren- 
uous. The  presence  in  the  North  Country  of  Mr. 
Edward  Mitchell,  treasurer  of  the  Northland  Naviga- 
tion Company,  was  like  the  presence  of  a  lord  on  his 
distant  estates.  Everyone  wanted  to  see  him;  every- 
one had  a  petition  to  present,  a  favor  to  ask,  an  offer- 
ing to  tender,  an  invitation  to  extend.  Not  only  was 
the  yacht  crew  kept  busy  skimming  to  and  from  port, 
but  a  procession  of  launches  and  lesser  craft  sought 
"  The  Sweetheart  "  continually  for  conference  with  Ed- 

250 


Doctor   Bryson 


ward  Mitchell,  who  despatched  business  like  an  ad- 
miral, presided  at  the  table  like  a  duke,  laughed  in 
abeyance  over  a  quill  of  a  cigar,  told  marvelous 
stories  to  Mrs.  Goddard  in  the  deck  moonlight  or  lis- 
tened to  the  music  of  Mrs.  Eliot  below.  He  was 
in  this  way  a  wonder;  in  this  knack  of  satisfying 
suitors  whom  he  refused,  in  drawing  people  out  of 
themselves  and  in  making  about  him  an  atmosphere 
colored  to  the  life  of  the  day,  the  hour.  The  dinners 
on  the  yacht  took  on  new  character  after  Mitchell 
assumed  the  ordering.  The  abundance  of  northern 
waters  was  offered  on  the  table.  Chicago  markets 
were  drawn  on  daily  and  the  wines  of  "  The  Sweet- 
heart," always  in  evidence,  showed  discrimination. 
The  eating  and  the  sleeping,  the  seeing  and  the  hear- 
ing, even  the  delicate  glasses  of  wine  served  to  the 
women  and  the  hardier  quantities  taken  by  the  men, 
spread  a  sort  of  magic  haze  over  the  waters  and  the 
shores,  like  the  softness  of  an  Indian  Summer  come  in 
August. 

For  a  week  never  an  hour  passed  without  its  ex- 
citement, and  no  day  without  its  guest.  One  day  it 
was  Grand  Hotel  people  to  discuss  a  shorter  Chicago 
schedule  for  the  following  season ;  another,  a  Canadian 
yachting  party  with  plans  for  a  passenger  service  from 
the  Lakes  to  Collingwood  and  the  Sound.  Ed  Mit- 
chell's friends  were  of  that  class  of  business  men  and 
public  men  who  travel  in  a  large  way,  entertain  like 
lords  and  expect  so  to  be  entertained,  and  it  was  part 
of  "  The  Sweetheart  "  code  to  furnish  forth  such  hospi- 
tality. Living  for  a  brief  week  in  an  air  like  this  is  the 
tonic  of  a  year's  ordinary  existence.  To  sit  at  table 

2* 


Doctor   Bryson 


with  railroad  men,  mining  men,  masters  of  commerce 
and  of  transportation,  men  of  striking  personality  and 
matured  wit,  was  a  stimulant.  With  such  men  Doctor 
Bryson  was  at  ease.  Nor  did  Mrs.  Mitchell,  Mrs. 
Eliot  or  Mrs.  Goddard  find  difficulty  in  maintaining 
their  position  with  the  women  of  the  parties.  Enter- 
tainments were  multiplied,  excursions  made  a  round. 

"It's  like  another  world,  isn't  it?"  said  Bryson  to 
Mrs.  Eliot  one  night.  "  The  Sweetheart  "  party  were 
guests  at  the  Grand  Hotel  and  it  was  on  a  private  bal- 
cony of  the  great  caravansary  after  dinner,  with  a  moon 
in  the  full  rising  out  of  Lake  Huron  and  the  dance 
music  of  an  orchestra  below.  Bryson  had  tucked  Mrs. 
Eliot  into  a  corner,  a  little  from  the  rest,  for  a  chat. 

"  We've  thought  we  knew  something  about  life 
down  on  the  South  Side,  but  I've  been  thinking  we 
don't.  This  is  life:  these  people  with  their  private  cars 
and  yachts  and  summer  palaces  and  fishing  preserves 
and  wooded  domains;  they  understand  the  thing.  It 
fires  me  to  be  with  such  people;  and,  Lord,  how  you 
shine !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  softer  tone.  "  When  you  sit 
down  at  the  piano  how  they  look — and  listen!  And 
aren't  they  jolly?  Can't  they  sing,  and  dance,  and  tell 
stories?  The  only  thing  that's  worrying  me  is  that 
you'll  not  care  much  for  me  after  seeing  all  these  swell 
men." 

His  face  turned  to  the  east  and  in  the  shadows  she 
looked  through  the  dim  light  at  him.  Their  heads 
were  not  far  apart ;  hers  was  shrouded  in  a  soft  film  of 
wool.  She  made  no  answer.  His  hand  crept  over  her 
own.  She  did  not  take  it  away,  but  spoke  without 

252 


Doctor   Bryson 


answering  the  pressure  of  his  fingers :  "  I  like  the 
South  Side  home,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  love  it,  because  I  love  you." 

"  They  are  very  nice,  of  course,  but  I  don't  think 
these  extraordinary  luxuries  are  necessary  to  happi- 
ness." The  others  of  their  party  were  rising  to  go 
down  to  the  ballroom.  "  How  much  less  would  I  ask 
to  be  happy !  "  she  murmured  in  a  pitiful  supplication. 
"  How  much  less !  Only  to  be  free !  " 

Mrs.  Goddard  called  to  them.  "  We  don't  get  five 
minutes  together,  do  we  ?  "  he  complained  ruefully. 
"  Well,  we  may  dance ;  come,  let's  make  some  of  this 
happiness  ours,  just  to  see  what  it  tastes  like.  You've 
never  danced  with  me,"  he  whispered.  "  Dance  with 
me  to-night,  will  you?" 

She  gave  a  little  troubled  laugh.    "  If  you  like." 

When  they  swept  together  out  on  the  floor  it  was 
not  only  the  eyes  of  their  own  party  that  followed 
them.  Tall  as  he  was,  Bryson  moved  at  ease  in  the 
dance,  and  Mrs.  Eliot,  supported  by  his  arm,  floated. 

"  Isn't  it  a  delight?  "  he  murmured.  And  answering 
she  did  not  speak ;  just  her  half-troubled  little  laugh 
made  response. 

The  yachting  party  went  aboard  late,  tired  and  hap- 
py, to  supper  and  to  bed.  Before  daybreak  Mrs.  Eliot, 
dozing,  heard  the  whip  of  the  screw  on  the  water.  At 
breakfast  they  were  among  the  Cheneaux  Islands  for 
muscalonge. 

The  men  stripped  to  fishermen's  togs  for  the  trolling. 
Just  before  they  took  the  rowboat  Bryson  tapped  at 
the  door  of  Mrs.  Eliot's  stateroom.  "  I  wish  you  would 
keep  these  for  me  while  I  am  out,  will  you?  "  he  asked, 

253 


Doctor   Bryson 


handing  her  a  package  of  papers  wrapped  in  a  manila 
covering  and  tightly  clasped  in  rubber  bands.  "  I 
should  hate  to  lose  them." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  are  ?  "  he  asked,  good- 
naturedly,  running  the  tops  of  the  documents  under  his 
thumb  like  a  pack  of  cards. 

"  Insurance  policies  ?  "  she  asked,  at  a  venture. 

"  That's  a  new  name  for  them,  but  not  a  bad  one. 
They  insure  you  against  everything  on  earth,  except 
death." 

"Oh!" 

"  Don't  leave  them  around  your  stateroom,  for 
they're  not  registered." 

"  Have  they  a  money  value  ?  " 

"  Well,  rather." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  carry  them  where  I  carry  my  money, 
then." 

"Where's  that?" 

"  Here,"  she  answered,  laying  her  hand  with  per- 
fect simplicity  on  her  heart. 

"  They're  lucky,"  said  he  reflectively,  "  to  be  so  well 
taken  care  of.  But  your  heart  is  big,"  he  added,  with 
a  smile.  "  And,  by-the-way,  I  want  you  to  pay  atten- 
tion now,  dear  one ;  mark  what  I  say,  will  you  ?  There 
are  eleven  of  them.  If  anything  happens  to  me,  they're 
yours.  Do  you  understand  ?  All  yours ;  you  are  just 
to  keep  them." 

"  Oh,  nothing  is  going  to  happen  to  you,"  she  said, 
clutching  at  his  coat  fearfully.  "  Nothing  shall  hap- 
pen. If  you  go  into  danger,  I  go  with  you.  Do  you 
understand?  If  one  of  us  dies,  both — do  you  under- 

254 


Doctor   Bryson 


stand  ?  "  she  asked,  frantic  in  appeal.  He  laughed  and 
tried  to  catch  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  was  as  shy  as  a 
humming  bird. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  would  die  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Leave  Ruth?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  cruel  to  suggest.  But  I  would  give 
my  life  for  either  of  you  ;  can't  you  understand  ?  "  She 
trembled. 

"  I  think  .so.  There's  no  danger,  dear  one.  Some- 
times a  fisherman  gets  ducked  and  loses  his  valuables, 
that's  all." 

"  Are  you  sure  there's  no  danger?  " 

"  Sure.     Kiss  me  good-bye." 

"  No,"  she  bubbled,  fighting  away,  "  I  can't  kiss 
you.  But,"  she  snatched  one  of  the  gloves  from  his 
hand,  "  I'll  kiss  this,"  she  laughed,  putting  it  to  her 
lips,  "  and  bid  it  bring  my  dear,  dear  doctor  back  to 
me.  Good-bye,  now.  Run  along,"  she  whispered, 
arching  her  neck  and  brows  and  shaking  the  package 
at  him. 

Mitchell's  voice  rang  down  the  companion  way, 
"  Oh,  doctor,  hang  it !  get  a  move  on,  won't  you !  " 

"  Coming !  "  cried  Bryson,  kissing  the  rescued  glove 
and  backing  away.  She  protested  in  pantomime 
against  his  holding  it  to  his  lips ;  then  as  he  reached 
the  cabin  stairs  her  head  nodded  and  she  disappeared. 

For  some  reason  the  muscalonge  refused  that  morn- 
ing to  bite.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  fishermen  quitted  the 
water  with  a  despised  string  of  pickerel  and  bass. 
Bryson  took  it  philosophically,  but  Mitchell  was  an- 
noyed, and  his  plans  for  the  trout  fishing  were  made 

255 


immediate.  He  invited  everyone  in  turn  to  go  up 
with  him  to  Steel  River,  but  everyone  in  turn,  except 
Mrs.  Mitchell,  absolutely  declined  to  brave  the  mos- 
quitoes and  the  flies. 

"  We  want  a  few  days  at  the  Grand  Hotel  to  rest 
up,"  declared  Bryson.  "  This  pace  of  yours  is  too 
fast,  Ed." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  suggested  Mitchell,  finally,  as 
they  neared  Mackinac.  "  I'll  have  Larry  take  Mrs. 
Mitchell  and  me  up  to  Steel  River  to-night.  You  folks 
visit  in  Mackinac  to-morrow  and  Friday  and  take  the 
Duluth  boat  for  the  Soo  Friday  night.  Larry  will  be 
back  there  Saturday  morning  with  the  yacht  and  bring 
you  to  Steel  River  after  us.  That  will  give  you  the 
magnificent  scenery  of  the  North  Shore,  and  we'll  be 
ready  to  come  back  with  you  when  you  reach  the  river. 
You've  never  been  on  Lake  Superior,  any  of  you,  have 
you  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  it's  a  trip  for  a  king." 

"  Fine !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Goddard.  "  Indeed,  Mr. 
Mitchell,  you  have  a  great  head.  We'll  have  all  the 
ride—" 

"  And  our  Mackinac  visit,"  added  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  And  no  mosquitoes — "  put  in  the  doctor. 

"  Then  we  can  run  right  back  to  Grand  Bay,"  con- 
tinued Mitchell,  "  and  you  will  see  next  week  the  pret- 
tiest yacht  races  ever  run  on  the  Lakes. 

They  parted  at  the  wharf,  Mitchell  and  his  wife 
going  to  the  yacht,  the  doctor  and  his  friends  to  the 
hotel. 

The  morning  brought  the  first  bad  weather  of  the 
trip;  rain  and  a  sweep  of  low  clouds  from  the  north- 
east ;  it  brought,  too,  neuralgia  to  Mrs.  Goddard.  At 

256 


Doctor  Bryson 


breakfast  Mrs.  Eliot  reported  her  unable  to  come 
down.  The  day  wore  with  the  storm.  Bryson  chafed 
not  in  the  least.  They  sat  part  of  the  time  with  Mrs. 
Goddard,  part  of  the  time  reading  and  talking  before 
a  log  fire  in  a  private  parlor.  He  was  brimming  with 
energy  and  planning  for  the  future  and  talking  in  low, 
earnest  tones,  wiping  out  difficulties  and  elaborating 
new  departures  for  work  at  the  College. 

"  The  happiest  day  of  my  life,  I  do  believe — and  I've 
had  some  mighty  happy  ones  with  you !  "  he  said  to 
her  that  night,  leaving  her  at  her  door. 

"  Oh,  I  have  your  package  yet !  "  she  exclaimed, 
putting  her  hand  upon  it.  "  Wait  a  moment  till  I  can 
give  it  to  you." 

"  No,  keep  it  to-night.  Put  it  under  your  pillow, 
and  see  what  you  dream.  It  will  be  as  safe  with  you 
as  with  me.  Good-night.  May  I  kiss  your  hand  ?  " 

"  If  you  like."  He  bent  low  over  her  fingers  laid 
frankly  on  his  own  and  kissed  them  twice. 

Once  in  the  night  he  was  called  to  Mrs.  Goddard, 
who  was  suffering,  and  after  administering  some  medi- 
cine he  sat  for  an  hour  at  the  fireplace  in  her  parlor  with 
Mrs.  Eliot,  whose  rooms  communicated.  When  Mrs. 
Goddard  went  to  sleep  he  left. 

Morning  broke  beautiful,  with  the  wind  shifting  to 
the  south  and  the  doctor  made  all  plans  for  a  drive. 
Mrs.  Goddard  was  better,  but  afraid  to  venture  out. 
So  with  a  basket  luncheon  brought  out  to  the  trap 
on  the  run  by  a  wonderful  man  from  the  kitchen,  Mrs. 
Eliot  was  helped  in  by  the  doctor  and  the  two  set  out 
to  do  the  island. 

Bryson,  along  the  road  and  through  the  woods  and 

257 


Doctor  Bryson 

fields,  took  a  multitude  of  pictures,  and  they  brought 
up  about  noon  at  the  Fort.  The  day  was  ideal.  They 
wandered  over  the  whitewashed  precincts  like  chil- 
dren, prowling  through  old  passageways,  sunning 
themselves  on  the  rotten  parapets  and  day-dreaming 
above  the  magnificent  panorama  of  the  Straits.  The 
driver  brought  out  the  hamper  and  an  unexpected 
cooler  of  wine,  deposited  them  under  a  maple  tree  and 
disappeared  upon  orders.  She  took  off  her  hat,  which 
he  hung  above  their  heads,  pinned  her  skirt  up  a  little 
and  on  the  angle  of  a  venerable  rampart  disposed  the 
luncheon  while  he  cut  their  initials,  "  H  "  for  Harry 
and  "  H  "  for  Helen,  into  a  retaining  beam. 

"  Doesn't  it  make  a  pretty  monogram  ?  Play  you're 
seventeen  and  I'm  nineteen,"  he  said,  while  she,  stand- 
ing, watched  him.  "  How  old  are  you,  dear  one?  I've 
never  asked  you." 

"  Twenty -seven." 

"  And  I'm  twenty-nine.  That's  why  I  love  you,  but 
you  don't  love  me." 

They  lunched,  talked,  and  found  a  grassy  bank 
where  she  sat  down.  He  threw  himself  at  her  side 
and  told  stories  and  planned  for  all  the  fun  they  would 
have  on  their  Lake  Superior  trip ;  before  they  knew  it 
the  sun  was  descending.  The  trap  waited  for  them 
under  the  arched  gateway.  At  the  hotel  they  found 
Mrs.  Goddard  up,  but  pale  and  wan  looking,  and  seized 
with  a  sudden  resolve.  "  I'm  going  home  to-night," 
she  said  at  dinner.  "  I'm  sick,  doctor,  and  you  know 
you  always  say  '  the  place  for  a  sick  person  is  at 
home.'  I'll  go  down  to  the  Bay  on  the  night  train. 
It's  only  two  hours  and  a  half.  You  two  go  ahead  on 

258 


Doctor   Bryson 


the  yachting  trip ;  you  must  leave  me  out.  If  I  should 
get  another  attack  like  that  one  yesterday  I  should 
go  crazy." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Goddard,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Eliot, 
"  surely  you  will  be  able  to  go  to  Steel  River  with  us. 
You'll  feel  better  just  as  soon  as  we  get  on  the  boat, 
I  know.  I  always  feel  better  travelling  than  I  do  at  a 
hotel." 

But  Mrs.  Goddard  was  resolute.  The  longer  she  sat 
the  more  evident  it  was  that  she  ought  not  to  try  to 
go.  She  made  a  final  appeal  to  the  doctor.  He  told 
her  frankly  the  sensible  thing  to  do  was  to  go  home. 
Mrs.  Eliot,  who  continually  intervened,  seemed  to  hope 
he  would  encourage  Mrs.  Goddard  to  go  with  them. 
Bryson,  on  the  other  hand,  was  quite  easy  about  it, 
and  gave  Mrs.  Goddard  explicit  directions  for  taking 
care  of  herself  after  she  got  home. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  they  rose  from  the 
dinner.  "  The  Bear  "  was  due  to  leave  for  the  Soo  at 
nine ;  the  baggage  had  gone  to  the  pier. 

"  Your  ferry-boat  leaves  at  ten  o'clock ;  an  hour 
after  '  The  Bear '  pulls  out,"  the  doctor  reminded  Mrs. 
Goddard  in  the  parlor  while  he  buttoned  his  glove. 
They  were  waiting  for  Mrs.  Eliot.  She  came  in  with 
her  hat  and  wrap. 

"  You  and  I  will  walk  down  ahead  to  see  the  crowd 
and  the  unloading  when  '  The  Bear  '  arrives,"  said  Doc- 
tor Bryson.  "  I've  ordered  your  carriage  for  a  quarter 
of  ten,  Mrs.  Goddard,  and  as  we'll  be  gone  when  you 
go,  I'll  say  good-bye  until  we  join  you  next  week  at 
the  Bay." 

"  Good-bye,  doctor.     Ever  so  sorry  I  couldn't  go." 

259 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Really,  ought  any  of  us  to  go?  "  asked  Mrs.  Eliot, 
appealing  to  both  of  them.  "  If  Mrs.  Goddard  is  sick 
let  us  go  down  to  the  Bay  to-night  with  her,  doctor." 

"  Disappoint  Mitchell  after  he  has  sent  the  yacht 
way  back  to  the  Soo  after  us  ?  "  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"  That  would  be  shocking.  Why,  he's  treated  us  like 
princes.  It  wouldn't  do !  " 

"  That's  true ;  you  must  go,"  interposed  Mrs.  God- 
dard, with  an  invalid's  privilege  of  insistence. 

Mrs.  Eliot's  eyes  wore  an  expression  that  could  not 
pass  unperceived.  "  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to.  In- 
deed, I  do  not,  doctor,"  she  urged. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
wouldn't  spoil  our  whole  trip  at  this  stage,  would 
you  ?  "  he  protested,  with  a  hard  look. 

"  You  go,  then,"  importuned  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  and  let 
me  take  Mrs.  Goddard  home." 

"  But  Mrs.  Goddard  doesn't  need  to  be  taken  home, 
my  dear,"  smiled  the  good  lady,  amiably. 

"  Come !  "  said  the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Eliot,  with  quiet 
emphasis,  "  you're  unnecessarily  nervous.  Let  us 
start.  We  shall  miss  all  the  fun.  Everybody's  going 
to  the  boats  already." 

"  Good-bye,  dear,"  murmured  Mrs.  Goddard,  kiss- 
ing her,  "  you'll  have  a  lovely  time ;  run  along  like  a 
good  girl ;  don't  mind  me.  I'm  all  right." 

Mrs.  Eliot  stood  bewildered.  She  tried  to  respond 
to  Mrs.  Goddard  as  the  demonstrative  lady  embraced 
her,  but  when  she  turned  to  leave  with  Doctor  Bryson 
she  turned  like  one  dazed. 


260 


CHAPTER  XXI 

NIGHT  had  fallen  when  they  descended  the  porch 
of  the  hotel.  In  the  zenith  lingered  a 
fading  light  shot  out  of  the  west,  above  a  bank  of 
heavy  clouds.  The  air  was  humid  and  electrical;  op- 
pressive. On  the  Straits  laden  steamers  moved  like 
stately  fireflies,  noiselessly,  and  the  village  below 
blazed  in  evening  finery.  The  bazaars,  stripped  of  their 
fronts,  opened  upon  the  street,  and  upon  each  other. 
Sightseers  thronged  the  sidewalks.  On  the  primitive 
roadway  cottagers  in  traps  and  buckboards  and  road- 
wagons  rattled  along,  and  bareheaded  girls,  behind 
curbed  and  docked  horses  spangled  to  the  crupper, 
perched  on  carts  of  extravagant  height  and  color  and 
babbled  recklessly.  A  double  row  of  hacks  and  run- 
abouts packed  the  market-place  and  toward  the  pier 
set  a  stream  of  travellers,  idlers,  porters  and  baggage- 
wagons.  It  was  steamer  night  for  the  Buffalo  boat, 
the  Georgian  boat,  the  Grand  Bay  boat ;  for  "  The 
Bear,"  Duluth,  up ;  "  The  Arctic,"  Chicago,  down ; 
and  in  and  out  between  the  big  steamers  plied  the 
night  boats  for  St.  Ignace,  for  around  the  island,  for 
the  moonlight  dance  and  for  the  ferries  to  the  main- 
land and  the  upper  peninsula.  On  the  excursion  boats 
mandolin  trios  played  Sousa's  airs  and  rival  harp  and 
violin  combinations  offered  two-steps  and  waltzes 
timed  to  the  heavy  respirations  of  the  incoming 
steamers  blurred  by  the  bantam  spank  of  the  screws 

261 


Doctor  Bryson 


of  the  little  boats  and  the  hoarse  splutter  of  the  big 
ones  backing  and  pushing  their  leviathans  to  dock. 

Clinging  with  mechanical  tenacity  to  his  arm,  el- 
bowed by  baggage-laden  women,  crowded  by  tackle- 
laden  men,  by  runners  piloting  their  customers  and 
travellers  tearing  at  big  heaps  of  satchels,  Mrs.  Eliot 
kept  Doctor  Bryson's  step  and  listened  unreplying 
to  his  running  talk  and  comment.  His  humor  flowed 
in  every  step  he  took,  in  every  tone  of  his  voice  and  in 
every  turn  of  his  eye.  With  the  queer  little  panic  she 
had  fallen  into  at  the  hotel  checked,  he  made  it  his 
art  to  conjure  his  companion  into  good  spirits  again, 
for  happiness  such  as  his  must  mate  or  die. 

"  Come  on  through  this  crowd,"  said  he,  pushing 
steadily  ahead.  "  We'll  get  out  to  the  end  of  the  pier, 
where  we  can  see  without  being  shoved  about. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  You're  shivering." 

"  No." 

"  You  look  wild,"  he  persisted,  halting  to  bend  over 
her.  "  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  could  you  give  up  this  trip  to-night?  " 

"  Give  up  this  trip  to-night  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  but  clinging  to  his  arm,  looked 
out  on  the  water. 

"  Why,  Helen,  this  is  the  first  play-spell  I've  ever 
had  in  my  life  since  I  went  to  work.  By  Heaven,  it 
seems  to  me  there's  something  coming  to  me  in  life 
after  a  while.  I'm  not  looking  for  a  chance  to  give 
up  any  trip  like  this.  I'd  like  more  such." 

'"'  Then  do  you  go  alone.  Let  me  go  back  with  Mrs. 
Goddard  to-night." 

262 


Doctor   Bryson 


His  voice  grew  hard  as  ice.  "  I  thought  we  settled 
that  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  ought  not  to  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  with  chilly  patience. 

"  I  ought  not  to  go." 

"  That's  like  a  woman.  If  you've  a  reason,  give  it ; 
if  you  haven't  one,  for  Heaven's  sake,  brace  up." 

"  It's  a  dread ;  a  foreboding." 

"  Humph  !  If  I  regulated  my  actions  by  dreads  and 
forebodings — " 

"  Sometimes  all  a  woman  can  do  is  to  dread.  I'm 
only  a  woman ;  you're  a  big,  strong  man." 

"  You  stay  with  me,  then,  and  you'll  be  all  right. 
I'm  running  this  affair.  Enjoy  yourself;  let  me  look 
after  the  baggage."  The  hollow  roar  of  a  steamer 
whistle  cut  him  off ;  they  listened. 

"  That  must  be  '  The  Bear/  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  is 
'  The  Bear,'  by  Jove,  and  she's  on  time.  Look,  there 
are  her  lights.  You'll  be  over  this  in  five  minutes,"  he 
whispered,  reassuringly. 

"  I  wish  I  might." 

He  took  her  hand.  "  Why,  hang  it,  you're  as  cold  as 
ice ;  your  voice  is  as  dry  as  a  husk.  You're  not  sick  ?" 
he  asked. 

"  1  can't  lie  to  you,"  she  looked  straight  into  his 
eyes.  "  I  wish  I  could ;  I  wish  I  were  sick.  Every 
step  I've  taken  from  the  hotel  has  been  torture.  I've 
wished  horses  would  run  over  me  on  the  street;  the 
earth  would  swallow  me  up;  a  steamboat  would  ex- 
plode and  kill  me.  Oh !  doctor,  doctor,  can't  you  see — 
can't  you  see  what  I'm  facing?  " 

"  Control  yourself.     You  used  to  be  brave — " 
263 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  Ah,  brave !  No,  no,  no,"  she  shuddered,  "  not  for 
that.  If  I  am  ever  with  you  two  days  alone  on  that 
yacht  I  cannot  save  myself — I  am  lost !  " 

"  You  are  hysterical." 

"  No ;  look  in  my  eye.  You've  taught  me  what  hys- 
teria is.  I'm  not  hysterical ;  I'm  drowning." 

The  sudden  hulk  of  the  Soo  boat  loomed  like  a 
mountain  beside  them  and  glided,  panting  and  hissing, 
past  to  its  moorings.  Passengers  high  on  the  deck 
swarmed  like  bees  to  the  rail  and  a  band  played  "  El 
Capitan  "  march.  A  tribe  of  Shriners  on  excursion 
was  on  board  and  a  crowd  of  them  leaped  upon  the  pier 
from  the  gangway  ahead  of  the  plank  and  poured  into 
the  crowd  like  noisy  schoolboys. 

"  You're  frightened  to  death,  that's  all,"  declared 
the  doctor.  "Listen,  isn't  that  music  fine?  How 
that  band  plays.  Stand  by  me.  I  live  to  protect 
you.  My  life — everything  I  have — is  yours.  I  love 
you ;  I  make  no  secret  of  it,  do  I  ?  I've  always  loved 
you.  I  always  shall.  There's  nothing  on  earth  I  ask 
but  the  privilege  of  marrying  you  if  you 
will  marry  me.  You  won't  have  that  now.  You 
won't  have  a  divorce.  What  will  you  do?  Will  you 
leave ;  cut  loose  from  everybody  with  me  ?  We'll  start 
to-night.  I'll  go  to  the  end  of  the  world  with  you — 
anywhere  on  God's  earth  you  say.  That  package  you 
carry  in  your  bosom  is  money,  bonds,  fifty-two  thou- 
sand dollars.  Say  the  word,  and  no  eye  that  has  ever 
seen  our  faces  shall  see  them  again.  We  will  send  for 
Ruth ;  she  shall  be  with  us ;  one  of  us.  I'll  tell  her  the 
story.  By  Heaven,  Helen,  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it. 
Haven't  I  been  more  of  a  father  to  her  than  her  nat- 

264 


Doctor  Bryson 


ural  father?  Didn't  I  scoop  death  out  of  her  throat 
with  my  own  fingers?  When  she's  a  woman  will  she 
condemn  me  for  doing  what  I've  done  for  her;  for  lov- 
ing her  mother  above  every  other  woman ;  for  throwing 
everything  I  have,  everything  I  am,  at  her  feet?  Will 
she  condemn  me  for  that  ?  " 

"  She  could  not  condemn  you ;  I  could  not — no  one 
could  condemn  you." 

"  She  couldn't  ever  live  to  condemn  you.  After  all 
your  sacrifice,  your  struggle  to  care  for  her  as  you've 
cared  for  her,  if  she  could  live  to  condemn  you — "  his 
words  stung  with  anger — "  she  ought  to  have  been  left 
to  rot  with  diphtheria." 

"  What  will  happen — what  will  happen,"  she  asked, 
wildly,  "  when  I  condemn  myself?  " 

"  You  shall  not.  You  never  shall  condemn  yourself. 
You  can't,  till  you  condemn  me.  And  when  you  close 
my  eyes  you  won't  condemn  me;  I'll  die  with  your 
image  in  them." 

"  Don't  blind  me,  don't  blind  me,  when  every  drop 
of  my  heart's  blood  pleads  for  you." 

"  Listen  to  it,  then,  and  come.  It's  an  accident.  We 
didn't  will  it,  you  nor  I.  If  we've  reached  the  river, 
let  us  cross  it." 

"  Cross  it,  do  you  say  ?  Cross  it  ?  Yes,  if  ever  I  set 
foot  with  you  on  this  boat  to-night  I  have  crossed  it. 
I  could  never  struggle  further.  Tell  me  first,  tell  me 
now,  doctor,  you  surely  want  me  to  cross  it.  Is  there 
nothing  in  your  heart  that  speaks  for  me  ?  Oh,  I  know 
I  am  weak  and  wicked,  or  I  shouldn't  be  here.  Don't 
be  angry  if  I  falter  on  the  brink.  Can't  you  rest  with 
me  yet  a  while  ?  Can't  you  be  patient  a  little  longer  ? 

265 


Doctor   Bryson 


I  know  I'm  all  to  blame.  I've  done  you  a  fearful  wrong. 
Don't  say  no — I  have — but  don't  push  me  into  the 
river.  When  I  sink  I  drag  you  with  me,  darling,  and 
I  love  you  too  much  for  that.  God  forgive  my  wicked 
heart,  I  love  you." 

His  arm  caught  her  waist  and  she  felt  its  fearful 
strength  sweep  her  like  chloroform  from  her  feet.  He 
was  bending  above  her ;  the  wind  was  blowing  wildly 
and  the  Shriner  band  dinned  a  mad  tune  in  her  ears. 
She  heard,  but  caught  through  it  all  only  one  burning 
word :  "  Come !  Come." 

"  No,"  she  gasped.  "  No,  darling,  no !  "  She 
writhed  in  his  grasp.  Something  wet  and  cold  dashed 
into  her  upturned  face.  People  all  about  began  run- 
ning, a  confused  mob  of  indistinct  figures,  out  of  a 
pour  of  rain.  There  was  hurry,  scramble,  confusion  on 
every  side.  The  rain  fell  harder  and  a  little  girl,  thrown 
like  a  chip  out  of  the  selfish,  eddying  crowd,  running  to 
where  they  stood,  caught  frantically  at  Mrs.  Eliot's 
skirt. 

"  Mamma !  mamma !  "  she  cried,  bedraggled  and 
sobbing  and  panic-stricken  in  the  deluge.  "  Are  you 
my  mamma?"  she  screamed,  choking  in  the  driving 
storm.  "  Oh,  I  can't  find  my  mamma.  I've  lost  my 
mamma."  Before  they  could  catch  her  or  speak,  she 
had  darted  away.  The  terrific  chime- whistle  of  "  The 
Bear,"  opening  above,  stunned  them  with  its  starting 
blast;  the  wind  whipped  a  sheet  of  water  about  them. 
He  pulled  her  hurriedly  forward. 

"  Come,  we  must  get  aboard." 

She  fought  him  with  her  little  strength  of  hands 
266 


Doctor   Bryson 


and  feet  as  he  urged.  "  I  can't.  Oh,  Harry,  I  can't. 
You're  killing  me." 

He  straightened  suddenly  up;  a  blare  of  lightning 
revealed  his  face.  His  features  set  with  rage  as  she 
stood — the  rain  beating  her  upturned  eyes — resisting. 

"  You  don't  love  me !  "  he  cried,  in  a  frenzy.  "  You 
never  loved  me.  A  woman  that  reasons  doesn't  know 
what  love  means." 

He  pushed  her  roughly  away.  She  staggered,  slip- 
ped and  fell  to  her  knees.  A  frightful  crash  of  light- 
ning split  the  night.  The  long  pier,  stripped  of  peo- 
ple, lay  bare  to  the  storm  and  the  water  swept  it  in 
driving  torrents.  He  started  away;  hesitated;  looked 
back;  stopped.  She  did  not  cry  nor  scream.  Her 
hands,  clasped  in  rigid  terror,  seemed  to  stretch  for 
help,  but  did  not;  her  eyes,  staring,  seemed  to  see, 
but  did  not.  He  ran  to  her  side.  Again  it  was  dark- 
ness and  a  raging  of  wind  and  rain  and  he  caught  her 
up.  "  Come  back  to  Mrs.  Goddard.  Come !  " 

She  struggled  slipping  to  her  feet ;  he  could  feel  her 
breath  fluttering  and  could  remember  a  little  bird  flut- 
tering so  in  his  hand  when  he  was  a  boy. 

"  I  can't — see — "  she  faltered,  in  a  broken  stammer, 
as  she  stumbled  at  his  side.  "  I — can't  see." 

"  Who,  in  God's  name,  can  see?  " 

They  were  passing  the  gangway  of  the  steamer. 
The  plank  was  up.  With  a  huge,  hollow  purr,  like  the 
pant  of  a  great  cat,  the  big  boat  was  backing  steadily 
away  from  the  pier;  backing  away  for  the  Soo,  and 
from  the  horns  of  the  Shriner  band,  snug  within,  came 
the  easy,  swinging  rhythm  of  the  "  Mosquito  Parade." 

He  half  carried  her  to  the  street,  got  her  under  an 
267 


Doctor   Bryson 


awning,  bribed  a  hackman  to  drive  through  the  deluge 
to  the  hotel,  and  took  her  to  Mrs.  Goddard's  room. 

"  Yes,  we're  back,"  he  said,  shortly,  to  Mrs.  God- 
dard's open-mouthed  amazement.  "  Mrs.  Eliot  changed 
her  mind.  Good-night." 

The  cab  horses  slipped  and  struggled  down  the  hill 
again  with  him  to  the  pier.  The  storm  deepened  in 
fury,  but  he  gave  it  no  heed. 


268 


CHAPTER    XXII 

ON  the  Monday  following  the  gale  that  swept 
the  lakes  on  the  night  of  that  parting,  John 
Allison,  in  an  office  of  the  legal  department  of  the  East 
Side  Railway  Company,  was  dictating  a  despatch. 
Out  of  a  litter  of  newspapers,  letters  and  telegrams 
about  him  he  made  up,  after  many  alterations,  this 
message : 

"  To  Mrs.  J.  F.  Goddard,  The  Hemlocks,  Grand  Bay, 
Michigan. 

"  My  attention  has  been  directed  to  the  following 
death  notice,  contained  in  the  newspapers  yesterday, 
Sunday,  morning : 

"  ELIOT — On  Friday  night,  at  the  residence  of  his 
mother,  Mrs.  J.  Gordon  Eliot,  1228  Forest  Avenue, 
Evanston,  Gregory  Brewster  Eliot,  aged  thirty-six 
years.  Notice  of  funeral  hereafter. 

"  A  telephone  message  from  C.  W.  King,  manager 
of  the  Plankinton  House,  Milwaukee,  informs  me  that 
Henry  E.  Bryson  is  lying  there  ill  with  pneumonia.  I 
go  to  him  at  noon.  Notify  Mrs.  Eliot. 

"  JNO.  C.  ALLISON." 

The  affixing  of  his  own  careful  signature  to  that 
telegram  was  the  last  thing  John  did  before  taking 
the  train.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  he  reached  Mil- 
waukee, greatly  perturbed.  From  the  hotel  manager 
he  learned  the  bare  facts  of  the  breaking  down  of  the 
steamship  "  Arctic  "  Friday  night  in  the  middle  of  the 

269 


Doctor   Bryson 


lake;  how  it  had  been  forced,  by  stress  of  weather 
Saturday  night,  to  put  into  Milwaukee  for  harbor ;  how 
the  passengers  for  Chicago,  with  the  exception  of  Doc- 
tor Bryson,  who  had  come  to  the  hotel  sick,  had  been 
forwarded  by  train. 

The  meeting  of  the  two  young  men,  the  well  one 
and  the  ill  one,  was  more  than  sympathetic;  it  was 
affectionate.  Bryson  greeted  John  with  a  smile. 
"  They're  trying  to  make  me  believe  I'm  sick,"  he  be- 
gan, pausing  occasionally.  "  There's  an  amiable  old 
spider  of  a  doctor  here,  a  fine  old  fellow,  John — the 
house  physician — he's  taking  good  care  of  me;  said 
he'd  heard  of  me.  He  showed  me  an  old  fashioned 
lancet,  John,"  panted  Bryson,  with  a  strange  excite- 
ment over  the  trivial  incident,  "  that  he  took  a  cinder 
out  of  Long  John  Wentworth's  eye  with  when  he 
was  coming  back  from  the  Fremont  Convention 
in  1856."  Bryson  shifted  uneasily  as  he  smiled  and 
attempted  again  to  speak.  "  He  tells  me  my  left  lung 
is  pretty  well  caked  to-day,  but  the  constitutional 
symptoms  don't  alarm  me.  His  views  on  the  treat- 
ment coincide  exactly  with  mine ;  that's  reassuring." 

"  Good.  Now  don't  tire  yourself  out  talking,  doc- 
tor. I  shall  hear  it  all  right.  Just  lie  easy  and  rest." 

"  A  moderately  warm  room,  John,  and  an  absolutely 
stationary  temperature — " 

"  I  understand." 

"  Champagne  brandy  for  the  heart.  The  difficulty 
is  to  keep  the  temperature  right  between  midnight  and 
morning,  and  to  get  the  right  brandy.  It  is  the  heart 
must  do  the  work.  You  must  push  it,  John,  all  the 
time  with  grape  alcohol — understand?  " 

270 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Perfectly." 

"  Have  I  ever  explained  to  you  the  chemical  differ- 
ences between  the  alcohol  of  the  grape  and  the  grain 
alcohol?" 

"  Fully,  fully." 

"Sir?" 

"  Fully,  doctor,  fully." 

"What  was  I  saying?  It  is  curious  how  I  got 
caught  here."  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  "  You 
know  Ed  Mitchell's  crack  boat;  his  pet,  'The  Arctic,' 
John,  broke — a — nurse,  will  you  give  me  a  drink  of 
water  ? "  He  lay  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  They 
opened  again  with  a  wandering  stare.  "  The  artery 
forceps,  please,"  he  said,  in  a  quieter  tone.  Then  his 
eyes  closed.  "  Thank  you,"  he  muttered.  "  He's  a 
bleeder,  gentlemen ;  he's  certainly  a  bleeder." 

More  than  his  feverish  talk,  more  than  his  carefully 
labored  respiration,  it  was  his  eyes  that  shocked  John. 
Terribly  large  and  bright  and  restless,  they  seemed 
not  merely  to  see ;  they  blazed  with  thought  and  un- 
derstanding. Eyes,  brain,  mind  and  excellence  leaped 
together  in  one  great  fire  of  unreason. 

Allison  went  downstairs  sick  at  heart.  The  room 
clerk  handed  him  a  despatch.  It  was  from  Mrs.  God- 
dard. 

"Mrs.  Eliot,"  she  telegraphed,  "  is  in  a  highly  nerv- 
ous condition.  I  have  told  her  of  her  husband's 
death,  but  not  the  doctor's  illness.  For  special  rea- 
sons I  do  not  want  to  tell  her  unless  imperative.  Keep 
me  posted  frequently." 

He  hunted  up  the  manager  and  they  went  together 
to  the  office  of  Doctor  Spruance,  the  house  physician. 

271 


Doctor   Bryson 


At  five  o'clock  John  sent  a  message  to  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  Symptoms  this  afternoon  less  favorable.  I  should 
inform  Mrs.  Eliot." 

When  he  went  upstairs  the  nurse  told  him  the  doc- 
tor was  dozing.  He  looked  in  again  later.  The  same 
exhausted  smile  greeted  him,  the  eyes  grown  bigger 
under  the  shaded  light,  and  with  the  rising  fever  an 
increased  restlessness.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  house 
physician,  bearded,  bent,  and  superbly  confident,  scut- 
tled in  like  a  beneficent  old  pirate,  scanned  with  a 
piercing  eye  the  preparations  for  the  night,  gave  his 
orders  like  a  field  marshal  and  by  his  very  decision 
and  presence  dispelled  uneasiness  and  gloom.  At 
midnight,  after  a  final  consultation  with  the  sick  man, 
whose  head  seemed  to  clear  magically  the  minute  his 
case  was  discussed,  the  house  physician  noiselessly 
took  his  departure,  the  nurse  noiselessly  made  her  final 
preparations  and  John  sat  noiselessly  down  for  the 
watches  of  the  night. 

It  was  a  hard  night.  Morning,  the  shortened  res- 
piration, the  sunken  eye,  the  impassive  fever  ther- 
mometer told  the  story.  John  telegraphed  Grand  Bay 
early. 

"  Have  you  told  Mrs.  Eliot.  He  has  expressed  a 
wish  to  see  her,"  said  he,  in  his  message.  "  Condition 
critical." 

Noon  brought  a  telegram  from  Mrs.  Goddard: 
"  We  leave  with  Mr.  Mitchell  for  Milwaukee  at  once." 

Growing  apprehension  put  John  at  studying  time- 
tables and  steamboat  schedules.  They  could  not  pos- 
sibly arrive,  the  agents  told  him,  before  Wednesday 

272 


Doctor   Bryson 


morning.  At  one  o'clock  came  a  telegram  from  Ed- 
ward Mitchell. 

"  Mrs.  Eliot's  party  are  with  us  on  '  The  Sweetheart ' 
en  route  Milwaukee.  We  should  reach  Northern 
Steamboat  dock  not  later  than  ten  p.  m.  Have  car- 
riages there  early.  By  all  means,  if  not  already  in 
charge,  secure  Doctor  Spruance.  If  he  so  desires, 
wire  my  own  physician,  Parks  Ingram,  of  Chicago, 
and  ask  him  to  come  up  for  consultation.  The  St. 
Paul  people  will  make  a  special  run.  Call  on  our  peo- 
ple at  Milwaukee  for  anything  you  need." 

Ed  Mitchell's  pretty  yacht  did  even  better  than  her 
promise.  Captain  Larry  made  that  run  the  run  of  her 
life.  He  made  a  supreme  effort,  for  Captain  Larry  was 
an  Irishman  and  his  charge  was  a  distressed  woman, 
and  a  lovely  one.  St.  Gall's  bells  were  just  chiming 
eight  o'clock  when  "  The  Sweetheart  "  whistled  for  the 
Northwestern  Bridge.  The  carriages,  warned  by  the 
harbor  master's  telephone,  were  at  the  dock  waiting 
when  the  yacht  steamed  up ;  thirty  minutes  later  John 
in  the  hotel  was  called  down  to  meet  them.  Mrs.  Eliot, 
Ruth  and  June,  marshalled  by  Mrs.  Goddard,  were 
there.  "  The  Mitchells  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes," 
she  said. 

John  greeted  Mrs.  Eliot.  She  stood  between  Mrs. 
Goddard  and  June.  "  Dear  Mr.  Allison,  how  is  he?  " 
she  asked,  brokenly. 

"  He's  a  little,  just  a  little  better  to-night,"  John  re- 
plied, carefully  taking  her  hands ;  they  were  clammy. 
"  He  knows  you  are  coming,"  he  added,  floundering, 
"  for  he  has  asked  again  and  again  for  you.  Go  right 


Doctor   Bryson 


to  your  rooms ;  they  are  next  to  his,  and  I'll  get  Doctor 
Spruance  right  up  to  see  how  soon  you  can  go  in." 

Mrs.  Goddard  took  her  arm  and  put  her,  with  Ruth 
and  June  into  the  elevator.  "  I'll  follow  right  along," 
she  said.  "  How  is  he  ?  "  she  whispered,  after  the  car 
had  gone.  John  shook  his  head.  "  Temperature  a 
hundred  and  six.  His  breathing  is  something  fright- 
ful." 

"  What  on  earth  has  happened  between  them,  John  ? 
He  brought  her  back  from  the  boat  Friday  night  dis- 
tracted. John,  you  musn't  repeat  this,  but — "  her 
voice  sank  for  a  moment  to  a  frightened  whisper.  He 
started,  and  looked  at  her,  white  and  serious.  "  That's 
why  I  didn't  want  to  tell  her,"  she  resumed,  wiping  her 
eyes,  "  for  fear  it  would  make  her  worse.  Isn't  it  terri- 
ble? And  how  did  he  come  here  sick  with  pneumo- 
nia?" 

"  I  hardly  know  more  than  you.  For  some  reason 
he  took  '  The  Arctic '  Friday  night  for  Chicago.  It 
was  the  night  of  the  storm,  you  know.  He  stuck  to 
the  bridge  the  whole  night  with  the  first  officer. 
Knowing  he  was  a  particular  friend  of  Ed  Mitchell's, 
the  Captain  didn't  want  to  cross  him." 

"  They  have  had  a  terrible  quarrel.  I  hope  it  won't 
end  here.  And  now  her  husband  is  dead !  Lordy, 
Lordy,  we've  come  so  fast  my  head  is  whirling.  John, 
is  he  going  to  die  ?  " 

"  The  old  doctor  says  not.  I  don't  know.  Shall 
we  follow  them  ?  " 

Upstairs  Mrs.  Eliot  and  June  were  with  Doctor 
Spruance  in  the  hall.  "  Remember,"  he  was  saying 
to  Mrs.  Eliot,  impressively,  "  you  are  going  in  to  see  a 

274 


Doctor   Bryson 


sick  man.  The  slightest  indiscretion  on  your  part 
may  be  a  fatal  one.  You  must  avoid  exciting  him. 
Go  in  now  with  Mr.  Allison.  I  will  follow;  when  I 
touch  your  shoulder  leave  quietly ;  do  you  understand, 
my  child  ?  " 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  whispered  to  the  short,  bent 
old  man.  "  So  kind  and  so  skillful,  I  know  everything 
will  be  right.  I  will  do  exactly  as  you  say.  He  has 
taught  me  how  to  go  into  a  sick-room,  doctor.  You 
will  save  him  ?  "  she  burst,  in  a  sudden  shock  of  sobs. 

"  I  am  doing  everything  I  can  to  save  him.  If  you 
break  out  like  that  in  there  just  once,"  he  answered, 
tartly,  "  you'll  kill  him." 

She  took  the  rebuke  and  pressed  his  hand.  "  I  am 
ready." 

The  light  was  heavily  shaded,  and  the  nurse  stood 
back  of  the  bed  in  the  shadow.  He  lay  on  his  side, 
his  eyes  half  closed,  but  the  hardly  audible  rustle  of 
her  skirts  caught  his  ear.  He  roused  with  feverish 
alertness.  With  eager,  stretching  steps,  blunting  on 
her  heart  the  awful  shock  of  his  breathing,  she  made 
her  way,  with  June's  help,  to  his  bedside  and  knelt. 
He  looked  intently  into  her  eyes.  "  Dear  one,"  she 
murmured.  He  raised  his  brows  and  they  fell  again. 
"  She  is  not  here,"  he  panted. 

"  Not  here  ?  "  she  pleaded,  trying  to  make  plain  her 
face. 

"  John  has  sent."  His  thin,  queer  tone  dropped  to 
huskiness.  "  Tell  her  I  want  to  see  her." 

Her  hands  slipped  over  one  of  his  and  she  kissed  it 
in  an  agony ;  his  ear  caught  her  suppressed  sob. 

"  Coughing."     His  brows  drew  down  frowningly. 

275 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  You  have  taken  cold.    Now,  will  you  do  as  I  tell  you ; 
will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Take  a  teaspoonful  of  this  brandy  every  hour — one 
teaspoonful.  Drink  as  much  water  as  you  please  be- 
fore taking  it — but  none  after.  It  will  reduce — inflam- 
mation. For  some  coughs  and  sore  throats — due  to 
our  lake  breezes — it  gives  remarkable  results." 

"  Do  you  not  know  me?"  she  whispered,  pressing 
his  hand. 

"  Perfectly.  Listen.  The  books  will  tell  you  alco- 
hol excites — inflammation  and  fever.  I  tell  you  it  fre- 
quently allays  both — say  nothing  about  that,"  he  mut- 
tered, drowsily. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  me,  doctor?" 

His  eyes  closed.  She  clasped  his  hand  in  a  secret 
fright;  the  panting  respiration  of  a  sudden  subsided; 
the  eyeballs  sunk  within  their  sockets.  With  a  scream 
she  sprang  up.  "  He's  dying.  You're  deceiving  me. 
I  know !  He's  dying !  "  Her  voice  rang  frantic  twice 
with  his  name.  "  Harry !  Harry !  " 

They  jumped  about  her.  Bryson  from  his  stupor 
started  into  ghastly  life.  His  eyes  opened,  and  as  a 
dreamer  wakes  he  saw  her  outstretched  arms.  He 
struggled  to  rise.  "  Ah,  Helen !  "  he  cried,  like  a  sink- 
ing man. 

She  threw  herself  beside  him,  caught  his  head  in 
her  bosom,  cradled  it  on  her  breast,  and  savage  with 
unrestraint  kissed  his  vacant  eyes.  Until  she  would 
they  could  not  part  them.  She  laid  him,  fainting,  back 
like  a  child,  and  he  whispered,  frightened,  she  must 
not  leave  him.  She  put  kisses  on  his  hot  forehead, 

276 


Doctor  Bryson 


hushed  him  with  a  loving  breath  and  knelt  till  he  grew 
at  last  quiet. 

Not  even  Doctor  Spruance  would  venture  to  predict 
the  sequel.  But  Bryson  took  the  crisis  and  took  the 
collapse  asking  only  for  her;  the  convalescence,  still 
asking  for  her. 

"  You  can't  kill  me,"  he  said,  faintly  smiling  early 
one  morning  at  John.  "  What's  been  happening  since 
I've  been  sick  ?  Is  this  Monday  ?  " 

John  looked  long  at  him  before  he  said,  slowly,  "  A 
great  deal  has  happened,  doctor.  Mrs.  Eliot's  husband 
is  dead." 

"Dead,  John?" 

"  Dead  and  buried — two  weeks  ago." 

After  a  moment  he  spoke.    "  She  knows,  of  course?  " 

"  Yes."  John  took  from  his  pocket  a  clipping.  Sup- 
porting himself  weakly  on  his  elbow,  Bryson,  gaunt- 
eyed,  read.  "  Dead,"  he  muttered.  He  lay  for  a  mo- 
ment with  his  eyes  closed,  breathing  heavily.  "  John, 
ask  her  if  she  won't  come  to  me." 

"  She  isn't  here,  doctor." 

"Not  here?" 

"  She  went  to  Chicago  yesterday  on  some  matters 
she  had  to  see  to,"  said  John,  rather  awkwardly. 

"  Chicago  ?  "  echoed  Bryson,  faintly. 

"  We  expect  to  take  you  down  in  a  few  days,  any- 
way, you  know ;  just  as  soon  as  you're  strong  enough 
to  be  moved.  By  the  way,  she  gave  me  a  sealed  pack- 
age of  yours.  She  said  you  would  know  what  it  was. 
She  had  no  opportunity  of  returning  it,  and  asked 
me  to  take  care  of  it.  I  have  it  safe." 

277 


Doctor   Bryson 


Bryson  wavered,  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
"  What  did  she  leave  here  for  ?  " 

"  There  were  some  business  matters,  Harry." 

"  She  has  no  business  matters." 

"  She  must  have  had." 

"  Did  she  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  assumed  so." 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  it  ?  "  observed  Bry- 
son, weakly,  eyeing  him. 

"  I  don't  know  very  much,  for  I  gave  it  no  thought. 
You  know  the  rest  of  them  all  went  down  last  Thurs- 
day. When  Mrs.  Eliot  said  she  had  better  go,  I  as- 
sumed that  it  was  business  of  some  kind  that  was 
taking  her." 

"  Taking  her  on  Sunday  ?  "  asked  Bryson.  It  made 
John  uncomfortable.  He  did  not  cease  to  explain,  but 
he  had  already  ceased  to  convince. 

It  had  been  his  custom  during  Bryson 's  convales- 
cence to  go  to  Chicago  every  morning,  returning  in 
the  evening.  That  morning  he  left  with  the  promise 
that  he  would  return  early  enough  to  take  dinner  with 
the  doctor  in  his  room ;  the  sick  man  was  beginning  to 
sit  up  and  to  know  appetite.  A  day  earlier  such  a 
promise  would  have  made  Bryson  smile  one  of  his  old 
happy  smiles.  But  this  day  it  brought  only  mechanical 
thanks.  John  went  away  with  the  feeling  of  having 
managed  badly,  yet  without  knowing  precisely  how  he 
could  have  managed  well.  He  was  a  lawyer,  but  not 
a  diplomat.  He  had  concealed  a  secret  without  con- 
cealing the  effort  to  do  so. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached  his  Chicago 
office,  and  his  manner  of  despatching  business  indi- 

278 


Doctor   Bryson 


cated  something  on  his  mind  more  pressing  than  what 
was  on  his  calendar.  Contrary  to  his  invariable  cus- 
tom of  taking  luncheon  down  town,  John,  after  getting 
Doctor  Hoxie  at  the  Laflin  College  on  the  telephone 
and  making  an  appointment  with  him  at  the  house  for 
two  o'clock,  went  down  to  Miss  June's.  Mrs.  God- 
dard,  June,  Mrs.  Eliot  and  Ruth  were  at  table  when 
he  arrived. 

"  He's  better,"  announced  John,  briefly.  "  Weak  as 
a  cat,  though ;  it's  pulled  him  down  terribly.  He  can't 
sit  up  two  minutes  at  a  time  yet.  It  will  be  a  week 
before  we  can  move  him.  How  are  you  to-day,  Mrs. 
Eliot  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Doctor  Hoxie  will  be  here  at  two  o'clock." 

"  He  has  been  very  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Eliot,  gently. 

"  Well  he  may  be ;  Harry  Bryson  has  made  him  all 
he  is ;  and  he  knows  it.  When  I  apologized  for  drag- 
ging him  so  far  he  said  he  would  come  down  here  on 
his  knees  to  serve  any  friend  of  Doctor  Bryson's.  I 
like  that  kind  of  gratitude." 

"  Doctor  Bryson  certainly  has  the  faculty  of  attach- 
ing his  friends  to  him,"  ventured  Mrs.  Goddard. 

"  It's  no  wonder,"  interposed  June,  "  when  you 
think  of  the  trouble  he  takes  to  do  things  for  other 
people." 

A  pained  expression  passed  over  Mrs.  Eliot's  face. 
Mrs.  Goddard  shut  June  off  with  a  look,  and  the  talk 
became  an  effort  to  support  a  livelier  topic.  Doctor 
Hoxie  was  announced  before  they  rose  from  the  table. 
When  he  left  the  house  with  John  Allison  it  was  nearly 
three  o'clock.  Mrs.  Goddard  had  retired  for  her 

279 


Doctor  Bryson 


beauty  sleep.  Ruth  had  gone  with  June  to  market  and 
Mrs.  Eliot  sat  by  the  window  in  her  room.  The  day 
was  mild,  with  just  the  merest  breath  of  air  through 
the  casement ;  a  dreamy  September  day.  She  reclined 
with  her  hands  limply  open  on  the  chair  arms  and  her 
head  back. 

She  had  heard  the  rumble  of  carriage  wheels  on 
the  street  without  thought  of  them.  She  heard,  with- 
out heeding,  the  front  door  below  open  to  a  pass  key 
and  close,  and  sat  motionless  as  before.  But  for  her 
wide-open  eyes  looking  out  into  the  sky  she  might 
have  been  asleep.  If  there  was  a  breath  on  the  stairs, 
a  step  slower  or  more  uncertain  than  those  familiar 
to  her  ears,  they  went  unnoticed.  A  few  minutes  later 
not  even  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  a  man  in  her  door- 
way, enveloped  in  a  pull-down  cap  and  a  huge  ulster, 
stirred  her  revery. 

"  Helen !  "  She  started  and  clasped  the  chair  arms 
as  if  she  heard  a  ghost. 

"  Who  called  me  ?  "  she  asked,  trembling,  wide-eyed. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  even  my  voice  ?  " 

With  a  cry  she  put  out  both  her  hands  and  ran 
forward.  An  ottoman  between  them  tripped  her  and 
she  stumbled  and  almost  fell  in  front  of  him.  "  Doctor, 
doctor!  How  did  you  come  here?  What  have  you 
done?" 

"  Why  did  you  leave  me  yesterday?  " 

"  You  are  faint  and  trembling,  doctor.  Come  to  the 
couch.  Why  have  you  left  your  bed  and  endangered 
your  very  life  like  this  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead,  Helen.    You  are  free.    You  left  me." 

"  Oh,  no." 

280 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Now  that  you  are  free — have  I  lost  everything?  " 

"  No,  no.  Everything  I  have  and  am,  is  for  you — 
everything." 

"  Did  I  dream  when  I  was  sick,"  he  muttered,  sink- 
ing from  her  arms  upon  the  couch,  "  that  you  called 
my  name,  and  kissed  me,  and  said  you  would  not  leave 
me?" 

"  You  did  not  dream  it,"  she  murmured,  beside  him. 

"  And  this  is  you  and  I  now?    Do  I  wake  now?  " 

"  It  is  indeed  I,  doctor." 

"  And  you  do  not  kiss  me  ?  " 

With  a  hushed  moan  she  threw  her  arms  around  him 
and  smothered  his  reproaches. 

"  This  sickness  I  have  been  through,"  he  said  at 
last,  struggling  to  steady  himself,  "  sometimes  takes 
men's  minds.  Since  I  have  begun  to  get  well  there 
seems  some  mystery  about  me.  Since  I  have  been 
strong  enough  to  notice,  everyone  has  acted  strangely. 
It  is  a  bad  sign  when  a  man's  friends  all  go  mad.  I've 
sense  enough  left  to  know  that.  A  man  should 
blow  his  brains  out  then  before  they  lock  him  up.  I'll 
never  die  in  a  mad-house,  Helen.  Tell  me,  if  you  have 
any  mercy,  am  I  insane?  Are  you  all  hiding  some- 
thing from  me  ?  Why  does  everyone  act  so  queerly  ?  " 

"  You  are  too  sick  to  talk  or  worry,  my  darling.  I 
may  call  you  that,  Harry  ?  "  she  whispered,  hiding  her 
eyes  on  his  cheek.  "  It  is  not  you,  darling ;  it  is  not 
you.  It  is  poor  I  who  am  causing  all  this  trouble.  In 
trying  to  keep  it  from  you  we  have  done  worse  than  if 
we  had  told  you.  I  am  not  very  well,  that's  all.  But 
I  shall  be  soon,  and  I  only  want  you  to  get  well.  If 

281 


Doctor  Bryson 


in  trying  to  keep  away  from  you  for  a  while — we  all 
thought  it  was  best — I  have  made  you  expose  your 
life  and  you  should  die !  "  she  raised  her  hands  de- 
spairingly. "If  you  should  die,  is  there  no  death  for 
me  ?  I  could  stand  every  sorrow  now  but  that — to  lose 
you.  I  cannot  stand  that.  Do  you  think  it  is  only  you 
that  can  love  ? ''  Her  hands  caught  around  his  neck  as 
she  looked  into  his  face.  "  Only  you  that  can  hunger 
and  thirst  ?  "  She  drew  him  like  a  reed  to  her,  kissing 
his  hair  and  eyes.  "  Some  day  you  will  know  better. 
You  must  lie  down,  you  poor,  poor  boy."  Her  fin- 
gers— gentle,  restless,  sensitive  fingers — crept  over  his 
forehead  and  eyes  and  lips  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"  If  I  can  only  get  well  and  strong  again,  so  I  can 
love  you,"  he  muttered,  "  only  to  atone  for  my  cruel 
selfishness." 

"  Poor,  sick  boy ;  you  must  lie  down !  " 

"  First  tell  me  why  you  are  not  well,  dear  one.  I 
am  closest  to  you.  I  must  be  your  physician.  You 
must  tell  me  what  your  trouble  is  so  I  can  relieve  it. 
Don't  be  afraid  to  trust  your  secrets  to  me.  What- 
ever you  suffer,  I  surfer."  He  tried  to  rise,  but  fell 
back.  "  Give  me  some  water,  will  you,  Helen  ?  "  he 
asked,  pointing  to  the  pitcher  on  the  table.  "  I'm  mis- 
erably weak." 

She  rose,  took  a  step  forward,  hesitated  strangely, 
put  out  her  hands  in  front  of  her  and  stepped  again. 
Supporting  his  head  on  his  hand,  he  did  not  at  first  per- 
ceive her  efforts  to  reach  the  table.  When  he  looked 
up  she  was  past  it,  feeling  with  her  hands. 

"  Helen ! "  he  cried,  struggling  to  his  feet.  She 
282 


Doctor   Bryson 


turned  with  a  startled  exclamation  and  her  out- 
stretched hand  swept  a  vase  of  flowers  from  the  table 
with  a  crash.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  fran- 
tically. "  Can't  you  see  ?  Is  this  what  you  are  keep- 
ing from  me,  You  are  blind !  " 


283 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

GREENISH  with  pallor  and  faint  he  led  her  to  the 
chair  at  the  window.  Controlling  his  throat 
with  a  painful  effort,  he  tried  to  say,  "  Close  your 
eyes.  Look  down."  But  his  tongue  dried  and  his 
mouth  parched  with  the  words.  "  Have  you  pain  ?  " 
he  asked,  pressing  first  above  one  eyeball  and  then  the 
other  with  the  forefinger  tips. 

"  No  pain  whatever,"  she  answered,  trustingly  con- 
fident. "  I  told  them  I  should  be  all  right  when  you 
could  care  for  my  eyes.  Only  I  wanted  to  keep  it  from 
you  till  you  were  strong." 

"  Not  knowing  that  these  few  days  might  be  the 
difference  between  sight  and  blindness.  How  long  has 
this  been  ?  "  he  faltered,  still  feeling  the  tension  with 
his  skeleton  fingers. 

Her  voice  dropped.  "  Since  the  night  of  the  storm, 
dear  one,  at  Mackinac." 

His  hands  fell  upon  her  neck.  "  Is  this  the  price  you 
pay  for  my  accursed  brutality  ? "  he  asked,  slowly. 
"Of  all  punishments — was  there  none  for  me  but 
this?" 

"  It  is  not  your  punishment,  dear  one.     It  is  mine." 

He  felt  distractedly  about  on  his  breast.  "  I  must 
have  an  ophthalmoscope.  I  must  look  at  your  eyes." 
He  pointed  across  the  room.  "  Can  you  see  that  picture 
over  there  ?  " 

"  No." 

284 


Doctor   Bryson 


"  Can  you  see  my  fingers  ?  "  She  shook  her  head. 
"  Do  you  see  the  window,  Helen,"  he  asked,  painfully. 

"  Dear,  I  see  light  there." 

"  Has  your  vision  failed  every  day  since  you  were 
first  affected?" 

"  Listen ;  don't  suffer  for  me.  I  shall  be  better ; 
indeed,  I  shall.  That  terrible  crash  of  lightning 
— do  you  remember — it  seemed  to  blind  me.  In  the 
morning  when  I  opened  my  eyes  everything  was  hid- 
den in  a  fog.  I  thought  it  was  a  fog  until  Mrs.  God- 
dard  told  me  there  was  none ;  that  she  could  see  every- 
thing. But  the  fog  did  not  lift  from  nv  eyes  and  I 
knew  I  must  wait  till  you  could  help  me — if  you  would. 
I  was  afraid,  sometimes,  you  might  not  help  me,"  she 
whispered.  "  But  even  if  you  did  not — I  knew  I  should 
love  you,  blind,  dear  heart." 

"  Such  a  wrong  as  this  will  never  be  forgiven,"  he 
muttered,  his  features  set  in  vacancy.  "  Do  not  speak. 
It  never  can  be ;  it  is  too  frightful." 

"  I  have  no  wrong  to  forgive.  If  I  had,  my  love 
would  swallow  up  blindness  for  you,  if  only,"  she 
trembled,  "  you  would  still  be  kind."  He  kissed  her 
solemnly. 

"  Come  to  my  room.  I  am  a  coward,"  he  choked, 
his  damp  hand  in  hers.  "  I  am  afraid  to  look.  If  you 
go  blind,  I'll  prick  my  own  eyes.  Come." 

"  No,"  she  breathed,  supporting  him  as  he  guided 
her ;  "  no,  I  need  your  sight,  you  need  my  strength ;  we 
will  help  each  other." 

They  walked,  one  weak,  one  sightless,  into  his  office- 
room.  He  put  her  into  a  chair,  and  steadying  as  best 
he  could  his  own  uncertain  steps,  fixed  his  light,  dark- 

285 


Doctor  Bryson 


ened  the  little  apartment,  burnished  the  mirror  of  his 
ophthalmoscope  and  placed  her  in  front  of  him.  She 
put  her  gentle  hands  upon  his  shoulders.  "  Harry, 
dear  heart  of  mine,  I  love  you.  That  has  been  my  only 
wickedness.  Since  I  saw  you  that  first  day,  young 
and  strong  and  generous,  good,  I  loved  you.  I  strug- 
gled ;  I  couldn't  help  it — I  loved  you.  Tell  me,  Harry," 
her  hands  drew  convulsively  upon  his  shoulders,  "  tell 
me  before  you  look,  before  you  know— can  you  love 
me  if  I  am  to  be  blind  ?  I  dare  not  let  you  look,"  she 
cried.  "  I  dare  not  let  you  know.  How  can  you  love 
me  if  I  am  forever  blind?  And  if  you  forsake  me — " 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms ;  their  tears  fell  together. 
When  they  could  control  themselves  he  placed  her  in 
position  and  adjusted  the  mirror  disc  steadily  on  her 
eye.  The  mighty  instinct  of  healing  asserted  itself  once 
more  and  strengthened  him.  He  closed  the  distance 
until  their  faces  touched  and  threw  the  dazzling  rays  of 
the  glass  unfalteringly  upon  her  retina. 

If  one  in  this  life  may  look  into  the  soul  of  another 
it  is  the  oculist  who  pierces  the  heart  of  the  eye  with 
that  light  which,  shot  quivering  back,  lights  his  own. 
To  bare  the  mystery  of  the  divinest  and  tenderest  of 
created  things ;  to  look  from  capillary  to  vein ,  vein  to 
artery,  artery  to  macula,  to  choroid,  to  cup;  to  that 
mute  sensor  of  the  brain,  of  form,  thought,  life  itself — 
the  optic  nerve:  to  contemplate  thus,  alive  and  in  its 
very  function,  the  human  eye  must  always  inspire  awe. 
But  if  the  eye  bared  to  one's  own  be  a  woman's  eye, 
a  woman  dearer  than  very  life — what  may  the  inspira- 
tion be? 

Patiently  and  long  he  studied,  and  with  delicate 
286 


Doctor   Bryson 

questioning  and  artful  scrutiny  and  the  instant  calcula- 
tion of  trained  faculties,  steadily  built  up  his  diagnosis. 

Clasping  his  hand  as  he  drew  back  and  pushed  away 
the  light,  she  whispered,  "  Tell  me.  Don't  be  afraid  of 
the  truth." 

"  How  can  you  believe  me  when  I  do  tell  you,"  he 
responded  with  some  of  the  deadly  weight  lifting  from 
his  breast.  "  What  I  most  dreaded  is  not  there.  There 
is  no  glaucoma,  my  darling." 

"  None  ?  " 

"  No  trace  of  a  visible  lesion  in  either  beautiful  eye. 
Your  eyes  appear  absolutely  healthy  and  normal." 
With  the  thankfulness  that  she  tried  to  utter  her  caress- 
ing hands  felt  the  sweat  that  beaded  his  forehead ;  from 
her  girdle  she  drew  a  slight  film  of  a  handkerchief  and 
wiped  it  away. 

"  It  seems  impossible  to  realize  you  cannot  see,"  he 
continued,  sorely  perplexed.  "  Your  organs  of  sight 
are  perfect.  If  my  own  wretched  skill  counts  for  any- 
thing we  must  think  back  of  the  optic  nerve  for  this 
trouble.  This  is  why  Hoxie  can  make  nothing  of  it; 
he  knows  nothing  of  it.  It  is  my  shame.  The  shock 
of  that  night  has  stunned  some  impalpable  sense  nearer 
the  unknown,  nearer  the  brain  itself,  than  we  can  see. 
My  Helen,  my  darling,  oh,  my  queen,  for  this  wrong 
I  offer  you  my  life.  Believe  me,  trust  me,  and  God 
helping  me  you  shall  see  again.  If  I  faint  you  must 
not  be  frightened,'"'  he  faltered.  "  A  shock  might — 
do  you  understand  ?  " 

With  incredible  strength  she  got  him  into  the  ad- 
joining room  and  upon  his  bed  before  he  lost  con- 

287 


Doctor   Bryson 


sciousness.  June  found  them  there,  Mrs.  Eliot  sitting 
with  his  head  in  her  lap;  somehow  she  had  managed. 

At  five  o'clock  Hoxie  came.  He  stayed  to  dinner 
and  spent  the  night  with  Bryson,  to  watch,  without  at 
all  letting  him  suspect  it,  for  the  collapse  that  he 
thought  must  surely  follow  the  doctor's  unheard  of 
exposure.  But  Bryson's  youth  and  strength  and  en- 
ergy defied  consequences,  and  with  stimulants  and 
sleep  he  mended  like  one  that  has  work  to  do  and  must 
be  about  it. 

The  moment  he  was  able  to  sit  up  he  began  to 
analyze  the  subtle  malady  which,  in  clouding  Mrs. 
Eliot's  sight  without  a  discoverable  lesion,  offered  so 
few  assailable  points.  Doctor  Hoxie  was  at  his  call 
continually,  and  before  the  sick  man  left  his  bed  his 
campaign  had  been  laid  out  and  was  being  fought.  In 
his  bitter  self-reproach  he  had  told  her  he  should  never 
again  speak  of  what  was  nearest  his  heart  until  he  had 
given  her  back  her  sight.  "  Now  I  shall  know,"  he 
had  said,  "  whether  I  have  only  the  brutality  to  shatter 
without  the  skill  to  restore.  If  I  cannot  save  you,"  he 
had  vowed,  "  I  will  never  touch  an  eye  again."  Weeks 
lengthened  into  months  while  he  bent  every  resource 
of  his  skill  upon  the  baffling  problem.  She  had  one  day 
said — she  whose  concern  hovered  always  over  him — 
who,  sightless,  saw  better  the  crushing  of  his  spirit 
than  those  that  could  daily  question  his  reticent  features 
— she  had  told  him  he  must  go  back  to  his  lectures ;  but 
he  said  he  could  not,  and  when  she  pleaded  he  broke 
down  utterly.  He  said  he  could  not ;  and  she  realized 
at  last  that  it  was  true.  He  came  insensibly  to  lean 
more  and  more  on  her ;  clung  closer  to  her,  hid  nothing 

288 


Doctor   Bryson 


of  all  he  could  confide  from  her,  and  tried  to  hide  but 
one  thing — the  sting  that  defeat  renewed  every  day  in 
his  heart.  But  she  saw  even  that,  and  for  her  own  help- 
lessness had  only  the  sweetest  reflections. 

"  When  I  think,  dear  one,"  she  would  say,  his  head 
upon  her  breast,  "  of  my  captivity  until  then,  and  my 
blessed  freedom  since  to  love  you,  how  can  I  be  any- 
thing but  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world  ?  "  And 
upon  her  face,  before  so  resolute  and  quick  and  girlish, 
grew  another  sweetness — the  gentle  sunshine  that 
limns  the  features  of  the  blind. 

With  him  the  impatience  of  continued  worry  settled 
into  a  dogged  courage,  which,  exhausted  at  night  with 
failure  woke  new  in  the  morning  with  expedient  and 
hope.  "  We  must  win,"  he  would  say,  kissing  her 
fondly.  But  she  would  fondly  ask,  "  Have  you  not 
already  won  ?  Are  we  not  free  ?  " 

If  he  saw  that  her  instinct  penetrated  his  forebod- 
ings he  painted  new  masks  upon  his  grief  to  deceive 
her  with  play  of  light-heartedness.  That  Ruth  might 
be  always  near,  a  governess  was  brought  into  the  house 
to  take  charge  of  her  studies,  and  Ruth,  companion  of 
her  mother's  blindness,  grew  to  womanhood — if  wom- 
anhood means  thoughtfulness  and  unselfishness — be- 
fore her  years.  So,  indeed,  to  girls  like  Ruth,  it  does 
mean  these.  At  ten  they  already  know  all  of  woman- 
hood except  its  joys  and  sufferings :  something  must  be 
left  for  to-morrow. 

He  made,  after  a  time,  a  pretence  of  going  down  oc- 
casionally to  his  office,  but  his  practice  was  turned 
away.  He  had  said  that  while  hers  remained  sightless 
he  would  not  touch  an  eye,  and  he  would  not.  Hoxie 

289 


Doctor  Bryson 


was  installed  in  his  elaborate  college  quarters,  and  Bry- 
son, thin  and  feverish,  called  sometimes  to  act  in  con- 
sultation with  his  junior.  But  away  from  her,  he  was 
studying  always  or  sitting  at  the  club  alone  lost  in  a 
deep  chair  looking  out  upon  the  lake;  a  silent  man, 
shunning  companionship,  absorbed  in  thought.  He 
still  kept  track  of  the  clinics.  Hoxie  had  his  orders  to 
fasten  every  case  that  turned  up  of  hysterical  amblyo- 
pia,  and  Bryson  devoured  them  greedily  as  they  came 
along  only,  when  he  had  helped  them,  to  turn  away  with 
the  quiet  despair  that  marked  his  face.  Those  in  the 
city  highest  in  his  profession  who  had  their  hints  of  the 
desperate  case  he  was  struggling  with,  likewise  ap- 
prised him  of  such  cases  as  fell  into  their  hands ;  and 
he  was  made  to  feel  in  his  loneliness  and  despair  that 
he  had  a  few  friends  that  did  not  forget. 

Helen  was  never  for  half  a  day  left  without  an  evi- 
dence that  she  was  of  his  thoughts.  It  might  be  a  cut- 
ting of  flowers,  a  bunch  of  grapes,  only  a  package  of 
chocolate.  It  was  often  a  ring  at  the  telephone;  he 
loved  to  call  her  up  to  ask  an  answer  to  some  absurd 
conundrum  or  to  give  her  a  news  bulletin.  It  might  be 
the  result  of  an  election  or  the  death  of  a  royal  person- 
age, or  the  details  of  a  round  in  a  notable  prize  fight,  a 
sport  of  which  he  professed  to  believe  her  fond. 
To  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  telephone  calls,  Jim 
would  arrive  all  the  way  from  the  College  to  bid  her 
be  ready  to  drive  at  four  o'clock;  or  he  would  bring 
tickets  for  a  matinee  at  which  Ruth  and  her  mother 
were  to  meet  him.  Or  best  tonic  of  all,  it  was  at  the 
most  unlocked  for  hour,  his  own  distinctive  entering — 
nobody  could  deceive  her  on  his  coming — and  his 

290 


Doctor   Bryson 


springing  bound,  two  steps  at  a  time,  on  the  stairs. 
For  herself  she  was  happy;  in  secret  it  was  only  for 
him  that  she  grieved. 

One  Sunday  morning  in  her  mother's  apartments 
Ruth,  sitting  on  his  knee  pulling,  while  he  talked,  at 
his  hair,  gave  a  cry. 

"Oh,  doctor!" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Here's  a  gray  hair — two  of  them ! — three !  " 

"  Can  you  see  so  well  ?  "  he  asked  gently ;  and  Ruth 
rebuked  hid  her  eyes  on  his  shoulder. 

Not  long  afterward  Doctor  Bryson  came  home  half 
sick.  He  had  taken  cold,  he  said,  and  would  be  all 
right  in  the  morning.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had 
ever  known  him  to  complain.  He  did  not  go  down 
town,  but  came  to  her  room  to  sit  with  her.  She  could 
not  see  that  his  eyes  were  congested;  but  his  hands 
were  cold. 

"  You  are  worrying  about  something,"  she  said. 

"  No." 

"  Yes." 

"  Honestly  not." 

"What  has  happened?" 

"  Nothing  much.    Oh,  by  the  way,  I've  resigned." 

"Resigned?" 

"  Day  before  yesterday." 

She  could  not  hide  the  shock.  He  made  light  of  the 
matter.  "  I've  been  overworking  since  I  was  sick.  I 
need  a  rest,"  was  all  he  said.  Tears  filled  her  eyes. 

"  Does  Mr.  Allison  know  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  No." 

"Does  June?" 

291 


Doctor  Bryson 


"  No." 

"What  will  they  say?" 

"  What  need  they  say  ?  " 

"  Loving  you  as  they  do — to  see  you  throw  away  the 
highest  honor  in  your  profession.  The  prize  that  any 
oculist  in  the  world  would  be  proud  to  hold.  Oh,  doc- 
tor, doctor.  Who  will  your  successor  be?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Kurd,  I  guess." 

She  could  not  control  herself.  He  held  her  in  his 
arms.  "  It  is  I  who  have  brought  this  calamity,"  she 
stammered  at  last. 

"  Why  calamity,  dear  heart?  " 

She  caught  at  his  arms.  "  Am  I  still  to  ruin  your 
life?" 

"  No,  I  have  ruined  yours,"  he  replied,  quietly. 

"  I  will  never  live  to  be  a  lifelong  drag  upon  you," 
she  sobbed. 

"  You  can  never  die  without  me ;  I  promise  you 
that." 

"  It  is  because  of  my  eyes  that  you  are  sick  and 
worried.  I  know  why  it  is." 

"  No." 

"  Oh,  why  will  they  not  see  ?  " 

"  They'll  never  right  by  worrying  about  them,  dar- 
ling." 

"  I  worry  about  you,"  she  whispered,  hiding  her  face 
on  his  neck,  "  not  about  my  eyes." 

"  I  thought  I  knew  something  about  sight,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  I  don't ;  it's  a  farce  to  pretend  it.  I  am 
broken.  I  cannot  tell  whether  I  can  ever  give  back 
what  I  have  robbed  you  of.  Knowing  that,  can  you 
marry  me  ?  " 

292 


Doctor  Bryson 

'  You  have  not  robbed  me  of  my  sight;  it  was  an 
accident  or  a  punishment.  You  have  given  me  all  the 
sunshine  that  has  ever  come  into  my  life.  If  I  never 
see  again  I  shall  die  blessing  your  name.  I  loved  you 
when  I  had  no  right  to — " 

"  Do  not  say  so !  " 

"  I  let  myself  wickedly  grow  into  your  life  when  it 
was  wrong  for  me  to  do  it;  now  my  punishment  has 
broken  your  heart.  I  am  blind  now,  perhaps  forever. 
I  release  you,  Harry.  You  should  not  have  a  blind 
wife.  You  need  never  marry  me." 

"  Only  shame  has  kept  me  every  day  from  asking 
you,  my  darling,  to  let  me  marry  you.  Will  you  let 
me?" 

"  Are  you  sure  you  know  your  own  heart  ?  "  she  fal- 
tered. "  Knowing  I  am  blind,  can  you  marry  me?  " 

"  I  ask  nothing  more  on  this  earth." 

It  was  long  before  she  spoke.  She  opened  her  eyes 
wide  upon  his  face  and  her  hands  slipped  about  his 
neck.  "  Then  in  God's  name,  dear  one,  let  me  be  your 
wife,  and  blind  though  I  am,  you  shall  be  rewarded 
for  all  your  goodness  or  I  will  die  to  release  you." 

But  having  so  far  forgotten  herself,  Helen  Eliot — 
becoming  again  a  free  agent — demurred  with  a  wom- 
an's promptitude  at  appointing  the  day.  He  asked  for 
the  very  next;  she  pleaded  for  at  least  two  months. 
They  compromised,  late,  and  to  her  great  horror,  on 
two  weeks.  When  John  was  told  he  asked  for  only  one 
privilege :  that  of  supplying  the  minister.  "  I  got  him 
in  a  damage  case,"  explained  John  to  them,  with 
interest  and  emotion.  "  He  has  had  trouble  and 
I  think  he  will  do,"  and  John's  minister  did,  indeed, 

293 


Doctor  Bryson 


prove  to  be  a  man  of  sorrows.  Cast  upon  the  lee  of 
penury  by  a  strenuous  boulevard  congregation,  Mr. 
Carey,  starving  meanwhile  modestly,  was  awaiting  on 
a  side  street  the  Master's  call.  He  had  a  plump,  gray 
little  wife,  who  on  their  starvation  diet  still  burst 
through  waists  and  sleeves — but  what  cannot  a  good 
woman  do  ?  She  worried  over  her  uncommon  assimila- 
tion, but  the  less  they  had  to  eat  the  rounder  grew  Mrs. 
Carey's  shoulders,  and  she  was,  in  the  end,  forced  to 
attribute  her  flesh  to  the  impurities  in  Chicago  drink- 
ing water. 

Her  husband,  not  satisfied  with  being  stoned  by  a 
body  of  prosperous  church  trustees,  had  shortly  after- 
ward fallen  foul  of  one  of  John's  trolley  cars,  and  his 
demoralization  had  become  complete.  After  his  en- 
counter with  the  brethren  in  the  business  meeting  the 
unlucky  divine  had  conceived  so  wretched  an  idea  of 
his  own  worth  that  the  thought  of  making  a  claim 
against  the  street  railway  company  did  not  occur  to 
him.  John's  satellites  laid  the  facts  before  the  official 
head  of  the  Claim  Department,  and  the  head,  viz.,  Mr. 
Allison,  expressed  a  desire  to  meet  so  phenomenal  a 
man.  He  not  only  made  Mr.  Carey's  acquaintance, 
but  loved  him  at  once. 

When  the  great  day  that  had  been  appointed  at  Miss 
June's  was  but  one  week  away,  John  brought  his  find, 
starved  and  kindly,  over  to  the  house  to  meet  those 
whom  he  was  to  join  in  holy  wedlock,  and,  leaving,  the 
stranger  had  breathed  out  of  his  pitying  heart  a  little 
prayer  over  Helen  Eliot's  sightless  eyes — and  for  that 
Bryson  loved  him. 

Nothing  then  would  do  but  that  Mrs.  Carey  should 
294 


Doctor   Bryson 


come  over,  too.  One  night  the  little  gray  lady  came 
in  a  basque  made  for  her  when  she  was  young  and 
slender,  and  she  crept  pretty  nearly  out  of  it  into 
Helen's  heart  with  a  story. 

"  You  know,"  she  whispered  over  on  the  sofa,  while 
at  the  other  side  of  the  room  Mr.  Carey  was  answer- 
ing some  inquiries  of  John's  concerning  the  position  of 
his  young  successor  in  the  Boulevard  pulpit  on  the 
authorship  of  the  ten  commandments.  "  You  know," 
whispered  Mrs.  Carey,  eagerly,  as  if  it  were  a  real  ice 
cream  secret,  "  we  live  right  next  door  to  Madame 
Laferte's." 

"  You  do  ?  "  asked  Helen,  squeezing  her  roly-poly 
hand  in  great  surprise.  Happy  people  can  always  get 
up  an  interest  even  in  directories  and  street  numbers 
and  such  things.  "  Why,  she  is  making  my  dresses." 

"  I  know  it,  dear ;  it's  about  that.  Her  sister,  you 
know,  Aggie  Lafferty,  is  her  head  seamstress." 

"Is  she?" 

"They  have  eighteen  sewing  girls — " 

"  Just  think  of  it." 

"  And  Aggie  works  so  hard  and  is  such  a  good  girl. 
They  had  a  distressing  time  getting  started,  but  now 
they  are  prosperous,"  sighed  Mrs.  Carey.  "  We  have 
known  them  two  years ;  they  are  Catholics,"  she  added, 
lowering  her  voice.  Helen  only  squeezed  her  hand 
sympathetically;  under  the  circumstances  it  seemed 
the  best  thing  to  do,  for  it  might  mean  "  How  nice," 
or,  "  This  is  simply  dreadful,"  whichever  way  you  took 
it.  "  Two  years  ago,  when  Aggie  was  working  her 
finger-tips  off  to  keep  soul  and  body  together,  her  eyes 
gave  out.  She  began  to  go  blind,"  faltered  Mrs.  Carey, 

295 


Doctor  Bryson 


feeling  suddenly  conscious,  "  and  whom  do  you  think 
she  went  to  ?  Doctor  Bryson !  Yes.  He  worked  with 
her  three  whole  months — she  had  to  stay  nearly  all  that 
time  in  a  dark-room ;  but  he  cured  her  completely.  They 
lost  all  their  trade,  because  she  couldn't  work  and  they 
hadn't  any  money.  Oh,  they  had  a  hard  time.  But 
now  she  makes  these  grand  party  dresses  that  cost  two 
and  three  hundred  dollars.  And  when  she  offered  to 
pay  him,  dear — he  must  be  a  very  good  man ;  I  don't 
see  how  he  could  ever  do  anything  wrong — he  wouldn't 
take  a  cent  for  all  his  trouble,  because  he  saw  one  day 
how  worn  her  shoes  were  and  knew  they  were  so 
poor — "  She  squeezed  Helen's  hand  and  Helen 
squeezed  her  hand ;  it  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do. 

"  And  now — she  is  making  your  wedding  dress  all 
herself,  and  she  ran  over  day  before  yesterday  to  tell 
me  that  they  were  making  such  beautiful  gowns  for  a 
lady  that  was  bl — having  trouble  with  her  eyes.  And 
I  told  her  Mr.  Carey  was  going  to  perform  the  cere- 
mony and  that  he  had  met  the  lady  and  that  she  was 
going  to  marry  Doctor  Bryson !  Oh,  Mrs.  Eliot ;  when 
I  told  her  she  burst  into  tears  and  said  if  that  wedding 
dress  was  for  his  bride  she  would  kiss  every  single 
stitch  in  it,  and,"  Mrs.  Carey  trembled,  "  she  is  praying 
for  you :  and  so  are  we,  dear,"  and  she  squeezed  Helen's 
hand  very  gently ;  but  Helen  asked  to  hear  more  about 
Aggie  Lafferty. 

So  Mrs.  Carey  told  her  how  this  same  wonderful 
and  resourceful  Aggie  had  intervened  when  the  Careys 
were  in  the  sorest  distress  to  see  whether  she  couldn't 
do  something,  and  had  persuaded  Mr.  Carey,  as  a  re- 
luctant concession  to  her  sympathies,  to  carry  in  his 

296 


Doctor  Bryson 

pocketbook  a  tiny  statue  of  St.  Joseph,  telling  him  it 
might  bring  him  a  new  Presbyterian  congregation. 
And  how  Mr.  Carey  shortly  afterward,  with  St.  Jo- 
seph asleep  in  his  pocket,  had  been  run  down  by  a 
trolley  car;  but  when  he  reproached  Aggie  for  this 
lapse  of  her  patron  Aggie  had  contended  that  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  St.  Joseph,  all  the  same,  he  might 
have  been  killed.  At  which  Helen  laughed  happily. 
There  were  so  many,  many  inconsequent  things  to  be 
happy  over  that  night,  and  when  Helen  told  Doctor 
Bryson  about  Aggie  he  vowed  she  should  be  invited  to 
the  wedding  and  bade  June,  under  pains,  look  to  it. 

When  all  the  stunning  gowns  were  sent  home  and 
the  bill  from  Madame  Laferte's  came,  no  charge  could 
be  found  for  the  wedding  gown  itself:  the  dreamy 
gray  gown  lighting  all  over  into  gold  and  white:  the 
gown  that  Helen,  when  she  tried  it  on,  stood  in  draped 
so  queenly  that  June  just  dropped  on  her  knees  before 
her  and  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 

So  Madame  Laferte  was  interviewed  peremptorily 
by  June  concerning  the  omission,  and  answered,  as 
dressmakers  peremptorily  will,  that  Aggie  had  put 
every  stitch  into  that  gown  herself  and  that  no  bill  for  it 
would  ever  be  rendered  by  any  party  of  the  name  of 
Lafferty:  it  being  solely  the  sentiments  of  the  house 
towards  the  high  contracting  parties — one  of  whom 
had  long  ago  cancelled  the  obligation  by  preserving 
the  eyesight  the  gown  was  planned  and  executed  with. 

Somehow  everything  went  to  make  it  an  intensely 
happy  wedding.  Not  many  were  there,  but  they  were 
true  hearts — Doctor  Hoxie  and  the  closest  friends  on 
the  staff.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mitchell  could  not  be  left  out, 

297 


Doctor  Bryson 


and  Ed  Mitchell,  satiny  and  starched  and  shaven,  just 
from  a  special  meeting  of  the  trustees  of  the  Laflin 
College  for  the  Ear  and  Eye,  brought  an  engrossed 
resolution  from  that  body  which,  before  the  ceremony, 
he  presented  with  a  formal  bow  to  Mrs.  Bryson  to  be. 
And  upon  her  request  he  read  aloud  to  her  and  to  all, 
wherein  the  trustees  mindful,  etc.,  etc.,  had  declined 
to  accept  the  resignation  of  Henry  Elwood  Bryson, 
M.  D.,  Member  of  this  and  Fellow  of  that,  but  had,  in 
stead,  granted  him  leave  of  absence  for  one  year  with 
the  hope  that  when  his  private  affairs  permitted  he 
would  resume  his  duties — all  duly  signed  and  attested. 

"  Mrs.  Mitchell  has  had  the  silversmiths  working 
overtime  since  she  heard  of  this  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Mitchell,  confidentially  to  the  bride-elect.  "  I  don't 
know  what  she's  got  out  of  it.  Whatever  it  is,  it's  in 
that  trunk  over  there.  But  this  resolution  is  my  pres- 
ent to  you." 

Mary  Montague,  too,  had  her  special  offering  for 
the  occasion.  To  Doctor  Bryson  a  miniature,  such  as 
royalty  loves,  of  his  bride;  to  her  a  miniature  of  her 
husband,  done  long  ago,  Mary  said,  for  this  very  wed- 
ding day  when  it  should  come;  for  Mary's  faith  had 
been  of  the  kind  that  sees  through  mountains.  Nor  did 
Tune,  even,  come  empty  handed — it  was  she  who 
poured  over  the  nuptials  the  libation  of  old  maid's  tears 
— and  what  tears  make  purer  benediction  ? 


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CHAPTER  XXIV 

4  4  "PRANKLY,"  wrote  Doctor  Bryson  to  John  Alli- 
JL  son  from  Vienna  six  months  later,  "  we  are 
very  nearly  the  happiest  people  on  this  earth  in  spite  of 
everything — strange  tongues,  strange  beers,  strange 
dishes,  and  the  strange  mist  that  still  hangs  over  dear 
Helen's  eyes.  Sometimes  we  think  her  sight  improves. 
Again  we  know — or  unhappily,  John,  I  know — that 
hope  once  more  has  juggled  us.  Perhaps  that  is  why 
the  men  on  this  side  have  a  little  disappointed  me.  It  is 
my  fault ;  I  expected  too  much.  An  old  fellow  in  Paris 
caught  my  heart  with  an  unlocked  for  compliment. 
'  My  dear  doctor/  he  asked,  with  a  shrug,  '  why 
have  you  brought  her  over  to  me?  I  have  just  sent  a 
woman,  with  as  extraordinary  a  case  of  hysterical  am- 
blyopia,  over  to  you.'  But  he  gave  me  no  light :  only 
believes  as  I  believe — can't  help  believing — that  she 
will  see  yet.  We  are  all  gropers,  John,  though  it 
is  only  among  the  elect  that  we  admit  it.  Ruth  likes 
everything  immensely,  and  learns  French  and  German 
fast.  I  show  her  as  a  star  Jonnesco  case;  the  scar  on 
her  neck  is  completely  hidden  by  her  hair.  Helen 
would  like  to  leave  her  in  Munich  for  a  year,  as  Mary 
M.  wanted,  if  the  two  could  stand  the  separation — 
which  they  can't. 

"  And  now  I  shall  surprise  you  with  the  announce- 
ment that  our  stay  over  here  is  for  very  good  and  re- 
markable reasons  to  be  cut  short.  They  are  not  reasons 

299 


Doctor  Bryson 


that  would  appeal  to  a  bachelor,  so  I  shall  not  enter 
into  them,  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  instruct  June 
to  fire  all  boarders,  positively,  by  the  first  of  October. 
We  want  a  quiet  house  this  winter  and  I  reckon  you  do, 
too.  Mary  M.  we  shall  pick  up  in  London  on  our  way 
home  and  bring  with  us.  That  much  we  have  settled 
without  your  intervention,  my  son.  Helen  and  I  are 
rejoiced  that  you  are  to  be  married  in  October;  you 
two  are  missing  everything  by  living  at  different  ends 
of  the  earth.  Art  is  all  right,  John,  but  the  great  art 
in  this  life,  as  far  as  I've  studied  life  and  art,  is  for  two 
people  that  love  each  other  to  get  together  and  to  stay 
together — and  to  keep  on  staying  together — in  the 
quietest  possible  old-fashioned  way.  And  I  so  told 
Mary  Miniature  Montague  last  spring  in  London.  And 
she  denied  not,  which  I  took  as  long  ago  as  that  for  a 
hopeful  sign  for  you." 

John  met  the  Brysons  and  his  sweetheart  at  Quaran- 
tine. He  couldn't  wait  for  the  landing  to  get  sight  of 
Mary  M.  who,  wrapped  in  the  most  English  of  serges 
for  a  frame,  peeped  at  him  like  one  of  her  very  own 
miniatures,  only  greatly  excited. 

When  the  party  reached  Chicago,  June  and  Jim 
boarded  the  train  at  Sixty-third  Street,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  turned  one  sleeping  car  into  a  camp-meeting. 

Ruth  had  grown  tall  and  Viennese,  and  her 
braided  hair,  in  the  misty  gray  of  the  Lake  Michi- 
gan landscape,  looked  wonderfully  dark  to  June.  Doc- 
tor Bryson's  legs,  too,  appeared  to  have  grown.  Pos- 
sibly it  was  the  swelling  tide  in  June's  eyes  that  length- 
ened them  as  with  the  bit  sleeker  air  of  the  travelled 
man  he  hurried  forward,  cavalier-like,  to  kiss  June, 

300 


Doctor   Bryson 


whirl  her  and  lead  her  back  to  where  Helen,  with  a 
start  and  a  flush  and  a  face  all  life,  held  out  her  hands. 
June  swept  her  up  in  a  volume  of  skirts  and  sleeves 
and  hat  and  tears  and  she  disappeared.  But  she 
emerged  from  June's  embrace,  shook  her  feathers  the 
least,  the  very  least  bit,  and  stood  there  again  with  all 
the  demure  charm  that  made  June  ache  to  muss  her  all 
over  again.  Then  Mary  Montague  glided  up  to  go 
through  June's  wringer,  and  John  Allison  intervened 
to  ask  June  what  she  had  for  dinner,  and  for  the  second 
time  that  day  was  told  it  was  none  of  his  business — 
the  first  time  being  in  the  morning  when  he  persisted 
in  asking  Mary  M.  why  the  Brysons  had  come  home 
so  all  of  a  sudden. 

The  dinner  table  that  night  was  like  a  banquet  with 
everybody  trying  at  once  to  make  the  speeches.  After 
the  dessert  came  and  the  wine  had  got  entirely  clear  of 
the  ice,  the  party  had  settled  down  to  regular  story- 
telling and  June,  who  under  a  few  sips  of  cham- 
pagne was  nothing  if  not  cheerfully  ferocious,  asked 
Jim,  behind  her  chair,  to  tell  how  Doctor  Kurd  had 
tried  after  Bryson  left  to  take  possession  of  the  College 
office  of  the  surgeon-in-chief  of  the  eye  and  what  had 
happened.  Under  the  inspiration  of  the  moment  the 
details  at  the  hands  of  James  lost  nothing.  He  told 
how  carefully  Doctor  Kurd  and  the  janitor  had  laid 
the  plot.  How  Kurd's  things  had  been  moved  in  and 
Doctor  Bryson's  effects  moved  out,  and  how  Doctor 
Hoxie  had  one  morning  accidentally  discovered  the 
situation,  and  without  a  word  personally  thrown  the 
strenuous  man  into  the  receiving-room  and  had  been 
prevented  only  by  Jim  from  casting  Kurd's  ophthal- 

301 


Doctor  Bryson 


mometer  and  Javal  arrangements  after  him.  Doctor 
Bryson  held  his  head  in  his  hands  over  the  table  to 
laugh. 

"  Why,  Doctor !  "  exclaimed  June,  leaning  forward 
with  an  accusing  glare,  "  what  in  the  world's  the  matter 
with  your  head  ?  " 

"  My  head  ?  Nothing,  except  it's  a  little  congested 
just  at  present." 

"  Why,  you're  as  gray  as  a  badger !  "  declared  June, 
looking  around  the  table  amazed.  "  Look  at  him !  " 
Poor  June;  she  hadn't  been  warned  of  the  proscribed 
subject. 

Helen  took  the  shock  without  a  sign.  She  had 
learned  that  with  confidence  final,  love  over  all,  she 
could  still  be  happy  even  without  sight.  If  more  to 
fill  life  were  needed,  the  awed  happiness  of  the  new 
mystery,  soon  to  bind  her  closer  to  him,  supplied  it. 

Other  concerns,  too,  were  crowding  upon  her.  John 
and  Mary  Montague  were  to  be  married,  and  all  sorts 
of  doings  were  to  be  done  in  order  that  the  miniature 
couple,  as  her  husband  called  them,  might  be  started 
aright.  Ruth  was  to  be  put  to  school,  a  new  home  was 
to  be  looked  up  the  coming  year,  and  the  doctor  must 
be  urged  back  to  his  work ;  that  she  knew  was  his  only 
salvation. 

Once,  coming  in  to  dinner,  her  husband  found  her 
alone  in  the  dusk  of  the  parlor  at  the  piano.  While, 
unheard  by  her,  he  stood  listening,  the  chords  she  was 
breaking  ran  unexpectedly  into  "  The  Flatterer."  It 
seemed  to  him  she  had  never  coaxed  it  so  subtly  from 
the  keys.  When  she  had  done  he  spoke  to  her  and  bent 
softly  on  his  knee  for  her  kiss  and  told  her  surely  she 

302 


Doctor   Bryson 


never  had  played  so  well.  Then  she  laughed  and 
wanted  to  ask  something  of  him. 

"What  is  it,  darling?" 

"  If  I  should  die,  I  want  you  to  marry  again — "  He 
groaned  a  protest.  "  You  know  that,  dear  one,"  she 
continued,  inflexibly.  "  But  I  don't  want  you  ever  to 
ask  her,"  she  whispered,  "  to  play  '  The  Flatterer.'  You 
won't,  will  you  ?  Now  don't  make  fun  of  me ;  promise." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  do  promise,"  he  laughed,  clinging  to  her 
fingers. 

"  I  want  you  to  remember  me  by  that.  Never  ask 
for  it ;  but  sometime — sometimes — you  may  hear  it.  I 
shall  be  near  you  then,  perhaps,  when  you  hear  '  La 
Lisonjera.'  Why  not?  Couldn't  I  inspire  somebody 
to  play  it?" 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  you  could  inspire  anything." 

"  But  you  won't  ever  ask  for  it.  And  if  I  like  your 
second  wife  real  well,"  she  lowered  her  tone,  "  I  may 
let  her  play  it  once  in  a  while  and  you  will  know  I'm 
listening." 

"  And  if  I  shouldn't  get  married — what's  the  matter 
with  the  pianola  ?  "  he  retorted  with  an  effort.  "  You 
might  work  the  pianola.  Say,  let's  go.  If  you  keep 
on  I  shall  have  the  jim-jams;  honestly  I  shall.  I  can 
stand  a  good  deal,  but  I'm  not  all  cast  iron.  You're 
not  going  to  die  for  a  hundred  years,  my  pet.  You 
haven't  begun  to  live  yet.  I  mean  to  show  you  before 
you  die  what  life  is." 

It  was  more  than  two  months  afterward  with  April 
opening  rainy  and  shiny — soft  sometimes  and  misty, 
then  bleak  again;  but  with  the  sense  and  promise  of 
spring  in  the  wind  and  the  sun  and  the  sky  that  a  call 

303 


Doctor   Bryson 


reached  Doctor  Bryson  over  the  telephone.  When  he 
got  to  the  house  Ruth  was  in  her  mother's  arms.  Her 
mother  was  bidding  her  good-bye — for  a  little  while, 
she  said.  Mrs.  Goddard  was  waiting  to  take  Ruth  to 
the  North  Side  to  spend  the  day  with  friends.  But 
there  was  a  strange  wistfulness  this  time  in  the  mother's 
kiss  of  good-bye,  and  little  Ruth,  all  innocent  of  why 
mamma's  eyes  should  brim  to-day,  left  her  just  as  Doc- 
tor Bryson  came  hastening  in.  He  caught  his  wife's 
head  close  to  his  breast. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  whispered.    "  I  am  afraid." 

"  No,  no ;  you  need  not  be." 

"  If  I  could  see  it  would  not  seem  so — so — terrible, 
Harry."  She  clutched  his  hands  convulsively.  "If  it 
were  not  for  you  I  should  die  of  fear." 

Ruth's  voice  came  suddenly  from  below.  "  Good- 
bye, mamma ! " 

"  Good-bye,"  answered  her  mother,  starting  up. 

"  I  will  bring  you  some  flowers  to-night  when  I 
come,  mamma." 

"  Thank  you,  darling ;  good-bye." 

The  door  bell  rang  at  intervals  during  the  morning. 
At  noontime  those  in  the  house  tiptoed  about,  and  up- 
stairs it  was  very  quiet.  At  the  table  June  tried  to  serve 
Mrs.  Allison,  but  failed  miserably  and  only  sat  and 
glared  with  a  troubled  look.  So  Mrs.  Allison,  helping 
herself  to  what  was  to  be  eaten,  pretended  she  was  eat- 
ing— pretended  to  sip  of  her  chocolate,  but  really  only 
talked  random-wise  at  June's  unfleshed  eyes  and  empty 
face. 

The  minutes  with  her  of  whom  they  spoke  went 
slow:  the  hours  went  sometimes  slow,  sometimes 

304 


Doctor   Bryson 


fast,  with  a  question  brooding  over  her  unanswered. 
Sometimes  she  called  her  husband's  name ,  and  he 
silently  pressed  her  hand.  Sometimes  she  asked  if  it 
was  noon ;  and  it  was  noon.  Sometimes  she  asked 
if  it  was  night;  and  at  last  it  was  night.  Ruth 
came  with  her  flowers  for  mamma,  but  they  told  her, 
whispering,  to  give  them  to  Miss  June  and  to  eat  sup- 
per quietly  and  to  go  up  to  Miss  June's  room  to  bed, 
because  mamma  was  nervous  and  could  not  bear  any 
noise. 

"  But  mamma  must  hear  my  night  prayers ;  she 
hears  them  every  night,"  protested  Ruth  in  alarm. 

"  You  can  say  your  prayers  to  me,"  snapped  the 
venerable  sceptic,  tart  with  anxiety.  But  Ruth  was 
not  tart.  She  was  meek  and  lamblike  as  June  took  her 
to  the  third  floor.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  while 
her  gentle  petitions  were  breathed  above,  a  babe  was 
born  into  the  world — a  brother  to  the  little  girl  that 
prayed — a  child  to  her  who  suffered — a  son  to  him  who, 
while  the  infant  wailed  in  the  nurse's  lap,  kissed  its 
mother's  forehead. 

"  I  thought  " — he  whispered,  hushed  with  a  new  peni- 
tence, when  at  last  her  eyes  opened,  "  I  said  brutally 
once  that  you  did  not  know  what  love  was;  it  was  I 
who  did  not  know,"  and  the  pressure  of  one  weak  hand 
gave  love's  forgiveness  quick  to  his  heart. 

"  You  must  go  and  rest  now,"  she  murmured. 

"I  rest?" 

'"'  It  is  late.    Tell  me  who  he  looks  like,  Harry." 

"  As  like  you,  my  darling,  as  anything  you  ever  saw 
— who  should  he  look  like  ?  " 

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Doctor   Bryson 


"  Put  him  beside  me,  nurse,"  she  said,  softly.  "  He 
is  quiet  now.  I  want  to  feel  him  on  my  arm." 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  the  new  picture  was  made. 
Doctor  Bryson,  leaving  for  the  first  time,  went  down  to 
Julie's  sleepy  dinner,  then,  without  undressing,  threw 
himself  on  a  couch  in  an  adjoining  room  for  the  night. 
At  daybreak,  when  the  nurse  touched  his  shoulder,  he 
started  with  the  quick  perception  that  follows  sleep 
after  anxious  strain. 

"  Mrs.  Bryson  wants  to  see  you,  doctor." 
"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  demanded,  throwing  back 
his  blanket. 

"  Nothing  bad,  I  think ;  she  wants  to  see  you." 
He  hurried  to  her.    In  the  east  the  sun  rising  out  of 
the  lake  shot  golden  dawn  under  the  partly  drawn 
shades.    As  she  lay,  the  early  radiance  rested  on  her 
face — a  wan  and  girlish  face  now — such  a  face  as 
comes   out   of   suffering;    suffering,   that    sometimes, 
like  death,  gives  girlhood  for  a  few  hours  back  to 
womanhood.    He  saw  on  her  face  again  the  expression 
that  had  moved  him  the  first  time  of  all  he  ever  had 
seen  her — and  it  moved  him  again  with  a  thrill  of  hap- 
piness.   But  was  it  only  this  that  made  her  expression 
strangely  sweet?  her  face  all   a-flutter  of  rapturous 
alarm?  her  baby  again  upon  her  arm  and  an  arm 
stretched  with  speaking  fingers  toward  her  husband? 
"  Harry,"  she  cried,  faintly,  "  I  can  see." 
He  staggered.    "  What  is  it  you  say?  " 
"  Kiss  me,  kiss  your  baby.     Oh,  there  are  lines  in 
your  face  since  I  saw  it,  Harry — " 
"  Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  more." 
"  This  morning,"  she  fluttered,  "  I  felt  the  daylight 
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Doctor  Bryson 


through  my  eyelids  so  strong,  and  baby  woke  crying 
and  I  opened  my  eyes — and  saw  his  little  face.  That 
was  the  first  thing  I  saw,  right  at  my  side.  How 
could  you  say  he  looked  like  me,  flatterer,"  she  faltered. 
"  He  is  the  picture  of  you." 

He  hung  faint  upon  her  words,  kissed  her  eyes, 
looked  wondering  into  them,  question  and  joy  broken 
with  thanksgiving.  It  came  back  as  it  had  gone  out, 
this  light  of  her  deep  eyes,  without  warning  they  could 
read,  without  reason  they  could  know.  It  was ;  it  was 
not ;  and  again  it  was — to  crown  at  last  the  dear  dignity 
of  her  wifehood  and  motherhood.  That  was  a  stormy 
day,  the  day  that  Master  Harry  little  Bryson  was  one 
day  old,  and  it  was  noised  abroad  that  out  of  the  mys- 
tery and  into  the  world  he  had  brought  with  him  sight 
to  his  mother's  eyes. 

"  Why,  John,"  declared  Bryson,  with  the  frank 
abasement  that  put  conviction  behind  all  his  words, 
"  John,"  he  repeated,  musing  over  the  baby  as  he  held 
it  up  for  a  first  sight  to  his  bewildered  friend,  "  he's 
a  better  man  at  the  business  this  minute  than  I  am. 
There's  nothing  in  the  books  that  matches  this.  Here 
I've  been  studying  the  eye  all  my  life,  and  he  comes 
along  and  in  six  hours  makes  a  cure  that  I've  been 
worrying  myself  grayheaded  over  for  a  year.  Shake 
hands  with  your  uncle,  kid.  You'll  be  giving  every- 
body in  this  house  points  on  ophthalmology  before 
you're  a  week  old.  Here,  nurse ;  by  Jove,  he  seems  to 
be  getting  ready  to  tie  himself  up  in  a  bowknot ;  take 

him,  won't  you  please  ?  " 

***** 


3°7 


Doctor   Bryson 


A  new  house  was  opened  that  year  in  Kenwood  with 
a  baby  boy  for  king.  T.here  is  a  sister  princess  there, 
Ruth,  of  eleven  years,  and  to  the  monarch  there  are 
servitors,  the  chiefest  a  venerable  maid,  by  courtesy 
aunt — Aunt  June — who  might  in  a  regular  way  be 
called  housekeeper ;  but  her  principal  business  is  quar- 
reling with  Master  Harry  Bryson's  nurse,  who  is  dis- 
posed to  enforce  theories  concerning  his  infantile 
habits. 

"  You  might  just  as  well  come  and  live  with  us," 
Doctor  Bryson  had  said  to  June  when  the  Allisons 
went  to  homekeeping.  "  I  shall  have  to  run  your  es- 
tablishment, anyway ;  it's  cheaper  for  me  to  have  you 
here  in  the  house  and  besides  I  don't  have  the  worry  of 
your  staying  out  nights." 

He  is,  they  say,  precisely  the  same  Henry  Elwood 
Bryson,  M.  D.,  Fellow  and  Member  and  everything, 
save  for  his  very  gray  hair.  But  Mrs.  Allison,  who 
rather  piques  herself  on  being  an  authority  on  effects, 
holds  that  this  is  not  unbecoming,  not  in  the  least; 
rather,  it  adds  presence,  she  declares,  to  the  youthful- 
ness  of  the  Dean  of  the  Laflin  faculty. 


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